


That's Why They Call Me Mr Fahrenheit

by chaseandcatch



Category: Glee
Genre: Complete, F/F, Glee - Freeform, Glee AU, Klaine, M/M, Superhero!AU, brittana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 41,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaseandcatch/pseuds/chaseandcatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superhero!AU: Blaine Anderson is just your average teenager - big dreams, bad fashion sense and desperately in love.</p><p>That is, until one fateful night and a few wild mistakes, he changes. He's not just Blaine Anderson anymore - he's Blazer, renegade superhero and Lima's best/worst crimefighter yet.</p><p>(And he's still desperately in love, of course.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, hiya! If you've clicked here, that means my summary must not have completely bored you - I'll try to keep this short and sweet.
> 
> This is based off a rather wonderful GKM prompt (http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/36785.html?thread=47549873) that I've decided to fill. This is nowhere near complete, though, so I have no idea update-wise. (:
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> -Kayli

 

“I really like you.”

_No, no, that’s too safe._

“Kurt, I think I – I love you.”

_Real smooth, Blaine, just blurt it out._

“So, can we get coffee sometime? I’d really like to get to know you.”

“Y-yeah, I’m Blaine Anderson. We have French together, remember?”

“Kurt, I just wanted to – oh, fuck this.”

Glancing at his alarm clock, Blaine drags his eyes up to meet his reflection. Smoothing his hair for the third time that morning, he huffs, straightens his back.

_You can do this._

“I love you, Kurt Hummel.”

*

He manages to get to class just as the first period bell rings, stumbling into his seat and trying to focus on the teacher for the first few minutes of the class. It doesn’t work, though, because exactly two desks away from him, looking angelic and gorgeous and sexy as always, sits Kurt Hummel.

Kurt Hummel; head Cheerio, kind soul to all, gay rights supporter and owner of Blaine’s heart.

Blaine tried not to stare, he really did, and he could have made it through the class if it weren’t for Kurt cracking his shoulders and stretching out his neck and yawning adorably and-

“Blaine?”

_Oh god._

Kurt’s looking down at him, a little concerned.

“Yes?” Blaine _really_ doesn’t appreciate how desperate he sounds.

Kurt smiles, and Blaine’s heart pangs.

“The bell rang.”

Blaine looks around quickly, hastily cursing underneath his breath and gathering his things. Kurt lays a hand on his shoulder and Blaine freezes, glancing up and trying not to breathe too loudly.

Kurt sighs, squeezes a little.

“Take care of yourself, honey, okay?” He says, and then he’s gone.

The whimper that follows seems to crawl out of Blaine’s mouth, amble after Kurt and drop dead on the floor halfway there.

*

“Hey, _nerd!_ ”

Before Blaine can even figure out who said it, he’s turning on his heel, ready to lecture them on the importance of education and high grades and bowties when a miniature, blue-coloured Arctic Ocean slaps him in the face.

_Oh._

“Santana!”

“ _What,_ Hummel? Anderson over here got your panties in a twist?”

A sharp slap echoes through the hall, and even Blaine cringes a little.

“Santana,” Kurt says coldly, “both you and Brittany are bottom of the pyramid today.”

“But-“

“Would you like me to tell Sue what you’re doing?”

Blaine hears Santana stomp off after a few moments, and next thing he knows, Kurt’s guiding him towards the bathrooms.

“Come on,” he says, “-let’s get you cleaned up, Mr Dawson.”

Blaine’s never felt warmer.

*

After the last bell rings, Kurt has Cheerio practice.

Blaine goes home, cooks his own dinner and waits until he hears Kurt’s car pull up next door before going to sleep. Sometimes it takes hours, and sometimes it takes minutes. Blaine doesn’t really mind, though. It’s worth it.

In the stretch of time between, Blaine cleans a little. Works out. Curses his glasses. Reorganizes his wardrobe.  Jacks off. Bides his time.

It’s not that he’s an obsessive stalker, or that he’s got nothing better to do. In his first few days of crushing he tried to tell himself that he was being normal, that it was customary to spy on your neighbours.

It didn’t last long, though. Now he knows how much Kurt means to him. How bad it would hurt if anything happened to him because Blaine was asleep or distracted or just not paying attention.

Blaine just has to make sure Kurt gets home safe.

A few hours later, he hears the low thrum of Kurt’s car pulling in next door, and quietly listens for a sign of Kurt. A ‘Hi, Dad’or an ‘alright _’,_ or even just the faint padding of footsteps as he walks to his front door.

Blaine hears giggling.

Blaine hears a muffled thump, an unfamiliar voice muttering in a low tone.

Blaine hears Kurt moan a little, and his cock twitches.

Blaine sighs, clutches his pillow a little tighter and rolls over.

It’s always worth it.

*

 

Blaine’s dreaming of warm, kiss-swollen lips working their way down his body, whispering sweet nothings against bare skin. Licking and sucking around the swell of his ribcage. Soft, strong hands encircling between his legs and coaxing him into moaning, into whining and panting and thrusting and reaching out to touch the man hovering below him.

Kurt’s suddenly underneath him, warm and pliant and hard against his thigh as Blaine reaches between them, grabs Kurt and begins stroking. Plants tender, open-mouth kisses on his neck. Move against him softly and shudder and hear him cry out in something like ecstasy.

Blaine wakes up.

He finishes himself off under the sheets – they were due to be changed, anyway – all quick strokes and sharp bursts of breath and gritted teeth as he comes, and nothing but Kurt on his mind.

School comes and goes quickly. Kurt isn’t there, so he catches up on what he missed.

On his way home, he dawdles; he has time to kill, after all. His parent’s aren’t ever home long enough to question his whereabouts.

About a mile away from his house, Blaine’s cell goes off. He’d normally leave it be until he gets home but it keeps ringing, and once he sees that the caller is Kurt, he hits ‘accept call’ in a heartbeat.

“Hello?” Blaine knows it might just be Kurt asking about homework assignments or seating plans, but his heart is already smiling.

(And beating really, really fast.)

At first he can’t really hear anything but a muffled voice on the other end of the line. Two voices. A squeak of surprise.

The clear, silence-splitting sound of a zipper being pulled down.

Someone chuckles, too low for it to be Kurt, and Blaine stops in his tracks. He knows that he’s intruding on something private, that Kurt probably just butt-dialled him but he can’t stop listening.

*

“Oh – oh god, Sebastian-“

”-What, baby?”

 “- _Do_ something, ngh-”

Sebastian’s hand maps over Kurt’s body, working over flushed, red-hot neck. Tight, achy nipples, exhausted flesh. Quivering thighs and strong hips. Lithe, smooth-skinned waist and nerve-ended fingertips.

Sebastian likes to take his time with Kurt, when he can; he likes rubbing and squeezing and fondling every inch of skin he can find, likes the way Kurt always shivers and begs a little when he’s already stroking firmly between his legs, the way he arches up and cries out when he comes.

But most of all, Sebastian likes Kurt when he’s all his. No interruptions, no distractions, no over-gelled, smartass little schoolboys pining over him.

One little phone call should set that straight, yes?

*

“- _Do_ something, ngh-”

Blaine’s knuckles are going white from the pressure, and he almost wants to scream back into the receiver but what if it _was_ an accidental call? He’d be mortified, and Kurt would probably never be able to talk to him again.

He still can’t stop listening.

A high-pitched cry comes through, and the muffled rustling stops. He can hear Kurt speaking on the other end, but he can’t quite make it out, and then:

“Love you too, babe.”

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut, calmly ends the call and places the phone carefully in his pocket.

He makes it all the way to his street before he realizes that it’s raining. Soaked, he stomps inside, showers and tries to fall asleep quickly.

He hears a little more giggling, the thrumming of an engine growing distant.

_I love you more than he ever will._

Blaine clutches his pillow tighter.

_You’re always worth it._

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Blaine doesn’t go to school; he stays home, winding through laminated hallways and crying silently to himself. Mike calls a few times to make sure he’s okay – which he isn’t – and to ask when he’ll be back at school. Blaine doesn’t know, so he just replies _soon_ and leaves the phone off the hanger for the rest of the day.

Before he knows it it’s dark, and he remembers that it’s a Friday night. Friday nights mean students going out and _getting wild._ Underage drinking. Thinking that you know everything, and at the same time not thinking at all.

Most of all, though, Friday nights mean that Kurt isn’t coming home at all. He’ll always have a party that he _has_ to be seen at, a formal dinner with his cheerleading coach, a date with his boyfr-

Blaine sniffles a little.

He knows where Kurt is tonight, he _always_ knows, and it’d be easy enough to get in. All he’d have to do is walk inside, nod to a few people like he knew them and he’d be one of the crowd.

And he’s sick of being a loner.

Blaine looks back towards Kurt’s house. One of the lights is on upstairs, and he can hear laughter tinkling through the open window.

He looks back at his reflection.

  _Loser._

_Nerd._

_Faggot._

_Freak._

_“Blaine, your mother and I really don’t think that this – well, this ‘being gay’, as you call it – is a good idea-“_

_“Hey, Blaine! What’s it like being fucked up the ass?”_

_Kurt, standing a little above him and ohsoclose and his hand meeting Blaine’s shoulder-_

_“Take care of yourself, honey, okay?”_

Blaine grabs his jacket and keys and flies out the door faster than he can remember ever doing.

He can let himself go for just one night, right?

*

As it turns out, he can.

Blaine’s been at Rachel Berry’s house for around half an hour, and – aside from the five times he’s been hit on by her – he’s feeling a little out of place. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t get drunk, or dance to songs without words. He doesn’t interact with people who are above him.

Blaine can’t remember ever enjoying himself this much.

After circulating the house a few times, he finally spots Kurt – he’s in a tight-fitting white t-shirt, black vest and those painted-on jeans that Blaine’s particularly fond of. He’s smiling, laughing, and before Blaine can process it, he’s walking over.

“Blaine?”

_Uh._

He’s not really doing much more than staring, but Kurt doesn’t seem to take it too badly.

“How are you?”

_Good – say good. Don’t say anything relating to his ass._

“Good.” He forces a smile.

“That’s great!”

Kurt seems genuinely happy to see him and willing to participate in a conversation with him, and he can’t get his stupid mouth to talk.

“H-how are you?”

“I’m good! Good.”

“Good.”

They both look down, a little nervously, and Blaine can feel his bones shaking.

“I didn’t think you usually came to these kinds of parties?”

“I usually don’t.”

“Oh.”

Kurt sits down on one of the lounges, and Blaine finds himself on the arm a second later. Their faces are close together, at the same level, the sides of their cheeks almost touching. Blaine fiddles with his bowtie a little, and he hears Kurt snort. Looking up, he sees Rachel setting up the karaoke stand and calling the entire party to attention.

“Excuse me! Excu- whoa - excuse me, everyone!”

At this point, Rachel looks like a cheap, light green Christmas tree with nothing but dead leaves on the top. A very, very drunk Christmas tree.

“Should I go help her out?” Kurt wonders aloud.

Blaine looks up at him, his lips twitching upwards a little.

“Only if you want to – just to be fair, though, I wouldn’t.”

Kurt looks over at him, mock-scandalized.

“Blaine Anderson! I thought you were nicer than that!”

Blaine falters a little at that, but Kurt smiles at him again and happiness begins to tick back through his shoulders.

“I just don’t need the publicity, I guess.”

“…Publicity?”

Blaine hesitates.

“I don’t need anyone to hate me more than they already do.”

Kurt goes quiet for a moment, and Blaine’s about to get up and leave when he speaks again.

“I don’t hate you, Blaine.”

_You’re right next to him. In a conversation. On a lounge. At a party. Go for it!_

Blaine feels like he’s about to throw up, but he can’t stop now.

“Why not?”

_You’re not going for it._

Kurt looks up, and when he replies he looks so sad that if Blaine didn’t know any better, he’d think that he’d just run over a baby deer.

“Because you don’t deserve it, Blaine. You don’t deserve to be pushed around and hurt and called horrible things and-”

Kurt has to stop to blink back tears, and Blaine can feel his heart bursting.

“-and I wish I could stop it, Blaine, but I can’t, and I’ll never be more sorry for that than I am right now.”

Blaine’s leaning over before he can process what Kurt’s said; it’s like instinct. They hug. He sniffles into Kurt’s shoulder. They pull back.

“Kurt, I-I really like you.”

_Fuck_ _fuck_ _fuck_ _fuck_ _fuck_ _fuck_ _._

Kurt freezes against him.

_Take it back take it back god what are you doing-_

“Shit, sorry, I’m sorry, god-“

And Blaine’s walking away as fast as he can, pushing past people and conversations and general happiness until he’s out the door, walking past the too-bright lights on the porch and further and more until he hears someone calling him back.

It’s Rachel, of course.

It wouldn’t be Kurt.

“What?” He just wants to _leave._

“You forgot your jacket!”

He runs back up, grabs it, turns to leave, but Rachel grabs his shoulder and spins him around for yet another awkward, drunken proposal.

Or so he thinks.

She leans up to his ear and whispers, “Can’t you hear them?”

Blaine listens, just for the sake of listening.

_“Excuse me?!”_

*  
“Kurt, I-I really like you.”

_Wait, what?_

Kurt’s muscles seem to lock into place, his head still tucked into Blaine’s shoulder, his eyes still a little wet from earlier.

“Shit, sorry, I’m sorry, god-“

And the warmth of Blaine’s body is gone, and Blaine’s gone, walking too fast for a human body to be able to and Kurt wants to scream at himself and slap himself because _how_ did he not notice? How did he not see the way Blaine looked at him?

And oh god, the pet names and the little, lingering touches. The stupidly honest speech he’d given a few minutes ago, the _I don’t hate you,_ the hugging and crying and-

_Oh god, I gave him a completely wrong idea._

He needs to go talk to Sebastian.

He finds him within a minute, talking to a few of his friends, laughing and smiling and a little drunk and too happy.

“Sebastian?” He sounds quiet and pathetic, but at least he hasn’t cried yet.

Sebastian looks over at him, holds up a hand to silence his friends and walks over.

“Hi, baby – what’s wrong?”

Sebastian can already sense that there’s something different. He hugs Kurt to him, running a hand through soft hair as Kurt sniffles against him.

“I just – I need to talk with you, okay?”

“I’ll get you some water – go sit down.”

And then Sebastian’s gone too – Kurt’s not exactly cold, but not as warm inside as he’d like to be. He sits down, and within a few seconds he’s joined by Chandler.

He’s met Chandler a few times before, but he’s never really gotten to sit down and talk to him; now he knows why.

“-and then Lenny was all, _oh god, yes, more_ and flinging off the cowboy hat and hitting me in the head with it and we couldn’t look each other in the eye for _weeks,_ you know? And there was that one time-“

“Chandler.”

“Yeah?”

_Did you invent cocksucking or something?_

“Can we not talk about this right now? I’m not really in the mood.”

“Why not?”

_Why don’t you go fuck yourself, that’s why._

“Because I just realized that I’ve made the worst mistake of my life, and now I have to go emote at my boyfriend and-“

“-wait, are you talking about the phone thing?”

_What?_

“What phone thing?”

Chandler seems to draw in on himself, so Kurt leans closer.

“Chandler, what are you talking about?” Kurt tries to keep calm, but he’s already tried his patience too much for it to work.

“It’s not my business.”

“ _Chandler.”_

“Sebastian, um, didn’t tell you?”

If looks could kill, then Chandler would be dead fifteen times over.

_“What do you think?”_

_“_ Okay, okay! I’ll tell you, but it wasn’t me, okay?”

“Fine.”

Chandler clears his throat a little.

“Well, um, the other day you guys were doing some…stuff-“

“You guys?”

“You and Sebastian.”

“Oh. Continue.”

“Do I have to?”

Kurt glares.

“You guys were doing stuff – like, sexual stuff – and he…um…”

“Chandler!”

“He stole your phone while you weren’t looking and called Blaine and put it on speaker and kept doing the stuff, please don’t kill me.”

“ _What?!”_

“He stole your phone and-“

“-no, no, I heard that.”

Chandler nods a little awkwardly. Kurt looks away – he doesn’t want to glare holes in Rachel’s table – and tells him to go. Sebastian walks through a few minutes after, and Kurt’s on his feet in seconds.

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?”

Sebastian freezes, holding two plastic paper cups and a cheesy smile.

“…Your boyfriend?”

_SLAP._

The water spills onto Sebastian’s shirt, and Kurt would have usually appreciated the sight but now is _so_ not the time. He steps forward with each word, and Sebastian instinctively walks backwards.

“Why would I want to date a selfish, betraying, tasteless asshole like you?”

Sebastian could be distantly related to a goldfish at this point.

“Why the _fuck_ would I stay with you when you have nothing better to do than liveblog our sex life – which was absolutely pathetic, by the way – to Blaine Anderson?”

Sebastian opens his mouth, and Kurt punches him square in the throat.

“I-I can explain-“

“Oh, please.” Kurt laughs humourlessly, “-please do.”

 “He kept pining after you and staring and just-“

_“Excuse me?!”_

“He was making it so obvious, baby, I had to do something!”

Kurt has him slammed against the wall in seconds.

“So you knew? You _knew_ that he had a crush the size of the fucking Titanic and you shoved it through an iceberg?”

“I’m sorry, baby, I promise I’ll never-”

“Too late. We’re fucking _through.”_


	3. Chapter 3

“Too late. We’re fucking _through.”_

 

Blaine kind of can’t believe his ears.

 

“Kurt – Kurt, baby, you don’t mean-“

 

A sharp slap stings through the room, and Blaine starts to believe a little.

 

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

 

Padded footsteps echo down the hall, and from the hushed, excited whisperings that are coming from every direction, no-one else is having trouble believing it.

 

Kurt appears a moment later, defiantly staring down anyone who looks twice, and Blaine can’t stop staring, thinking. Kurt just – he looks so _angry,_ and it’s all expressed so much. The way his body moves rapidly down the hall, like a fast train on a rusty track. His eyes are icy and burning and tear-filled all at once; everyone who looks for more than a second can see it.

 

Blaine’s been looking for as long as he can when Kurt finally spots him.

 

They both go to speak at the same time and there’s a moment of humour and pause until Kurt nods towards the kitchen – secluded, private, entirely confrontational – and Blaine nods to follow.

 

Blaine knew he would be stupid to think that people weren’t paying attention, or that this would end happily for him – but it’s not like it hurt to dream, right?

 

*

 

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

 

Head reeling from the slap – his current, drunken state doesn’t help either – Sebastian manages to pull himself up. Attempts to control his breathing, scans the room with warily defiant eyes.

 

_That little whore._

 

He stumbles his way into the kitchen. Drinks some water. Tries to regain himself, fails. Whispers echo through the hall, and he hears his own name mentioned a few times.

 

Sebastian sighs – he’s so busy looking down that he barely notices McSlutty and Hairgel walking through and stopping on the other side of the bench.

 

_What the fuck is_ with _this guy?_

 

Through the muttered whispers on the other side, he can feel irritation creeping through his veins and making itself dominant. Turns his head a little to the side, and there’s a glint of silver in the corner of his eye.

 

Sebastian looks again, smiles a little too wide.

 

_Butcher knives._

 

*

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

They stop, and before Blaine can process it he’s spinning and facing Kurt.

 

“W-what?”

 

_He’s so perfect._

 

“I know you’re not the most confident guy in the world, and I know people treat you like shit every day but-” Kurt sniffles a little, “-but believe it or not, Blaine, you’re _really_ sweet.”

 

_Fuck._

 

“-and you’re going to find someone just as amazing as you, Blaine, I _promise.”_

 

Kurt steps closer, hands on his shoulders.

 

“But it’s not me.”

 

Hands sliding up neck, cupping Blaine’s cheek.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

And then Kurt’s lips are on his and Blaine’s heart is ramming like a wild bull up against his ribcage and he wants to sob because he’s just so happy and heartbroken at the same time.

 

Neither of them notices the almost too-loud footsteps or the drunken shadow emerging from the other side of the room.

 

Blaine hardly notices when he feels a white-hot arch slice itself into his back, but he finds himself falling to his knees and letting out a cry and breathing far too harshly for someone who just got his first kiss.

 

He can hear panic in the distance, and then Kurt’s right in front of him and cursing more than he normally does and Blaine can’t figure out why until he tries to stand back up.

 

_“We need an ambulance!”_

 

Blaine’s not sure who screams it, but he can’t do much more than lean into the crook of Kurt’s shoulder and pant a little and scream into the quickly thinning air. The feeling in his back is returning, and it feels like someone’s clawing out his skin and bone and marrow in a knife-shape.

 

“W-what…happened?”

 

“Sebastian stabbed you but it’s all going to be okay, fuck, oh god.”

 

Blaine shifts a little, lets out a muffled scream against Kurt’s shoulder. He can see the kitchen bench growing darker at the edges, and his blood is thumping in his ears again.

 

“Oh god, Blaine-“Kurt’s bawling,”-I’m so fucking _sorry_.”

 

All he can do is clench with the tips of his fingers and breathe slow and let Kurt’s voice lead him into quiet, black peace.


	4. Chapter 4

There’s nothing quite like the smell of hospital to start your day off.

 

Everything slowly snaps into Blaine’s consciousness – the chatter from the receptionist’s desk, the hospital bed that doesn’t feel much more comfortable than old bread against his spine, the sour tingling in the small of his back – as he wakes. Looking around his room, too-clean and almost-glowing white, he sees a small glance of colour next to his bed.

 

Sitting up, Blaine leans over to see a small bunch of flowers, yellow and pink and green, standing upright on the small tray next to his bed. There’s a small card attached, and once Blaine manages to position himself on one elbow he can reach over and read it clearly.

 

 _Blaine -- I hope you can read this soon. These are roses, and as cliché as it is they **were**_ _my idea. They’re colourful enough to brighten the room, so I hope they brighten your day as well!_

 

_Get well soon,_

 

_-Kurt_ _J_

 

Blaine can’t help but smile at the smiley face, and the roses do make everything seem a little happier. It takes him about five seconds to remember why he had to get better in the first place.

 

_-sharp, splitting but barely-there pain as he drops down, must be the shock-_

 

Blaine freezes.

 

_-“Sebastian stabbed you,” numbness ticking back into pain-_

 

He was stabbed less than twenty-four hours ago.

 

He’s sitting up.

 

_Fuck._

 

The door opens and a tall, short-haired older woman walks in before Blaine can process it. She glances up, looks at her check board for a few seconds, and looks up again. Blaine opens his mouth to try to explain something he has no idea about, and the woman walks out.

 

He sits there awkwardly for a few seconds before she re-enters, cursing under her breath and carrying a pair of scissors.

 

“What are you doi-” Blaine begins to ask, but then the tinging in his back practically buzzes with an itching feeling. He sees the way the woman holds the scissors – like aiming for a dartboard – and suddenly he’s on the glowingly clean floor, the scissors embedded in the wall where his head was half a second ago.

 

Blaine gasps, pushes himself up and turns to face the woman. She lifts her hand up, aims towards the scissors and Blaine freezes in place as they remove themselves from the wall and fly back into her hand. She turns to face Blaine, and he can feel his brain whimpering.

 

“Congratulations, Anderson, you’re a freak of nature.”

 

A moment passes.

 

“Who _are_ you?” Blaine forces out, sounding almost scandalized, and the woman snorts.

 

“I’ve never heard that one before. Call me Sue and for the love of god, _sit down.”_

 

Blaine cautiously walks over to the bed, and Sue follows. He opens his mouth – he’s _really_ got to stop doing that – and she holds up a hand to silence him.

 

“I know you have a lot of questions, and I’m here to answer all of them but you don’t need to speak, at all. Understand?”

 

_Nope._

 

“That’s okay. No-one really does.”

 

_How come I don’t have to-_

 

“I can read your mind, dumbass.”

 

_Oh._

 

“Can I start now?”

 

Sue’s looking at him expectantly, and he nods once.

 

“Well, for starters, you’re probably wondering why you’re alive?”

 

_I might be._

 

“Oh, shut up. You’re alive because I came in here at three a.m. last night and switched your medication drip to something with a little more _kick_.”

 

_Which is?_

 

“Classified info, kid. Sorry.” Sue smiles a little. “This wasn’t all just me, though. Someone out there wanted you to live. The stuff isn’t exactly cheap or easy to make, either, so you’re obviously pretty valuable to someone.”

 

Blaine thinks of Kurt briefly, and Sue’s smile fades a little.

 

“The point is that you can’t be pissy about this, okay?”

 

_About what?_

 

“Why do you think I threw a pair of scissors at you?”

 

_Becau-_

 

“It was rhetorical.”

 

_Oh._

 

“You can do stuff now, Blaine, and pretty advanced stuff too. So embrace it. Fight some muggers. Beat up some football player with a brain the same size as his incredibly tight, salty nipples,” Blaine shudders internally, “-and live happily ever after. Good luck, kiddo.”

 

_Wait-_

 

“What?”

 

Blaine’s mind goes blank, and Sue smiles gently.

 

“You’ll figure it all out for yourself, I promise. Just don’t let anyone sane know, okay?”

 

Blaine blinks, nods. Sue gives a little wave and walks out the door.

 

Blaine falls back onto the bed and groans.

 

_Could be worse._


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re sure you don’t need anything, sweetheart? We can fly home if you need us there.”

Blaine hops up onto his bed, nestling the phone between shoulder and neck and trying not to sigh out loud.

“I’m sure, mother. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He can feel his mother’s hesitation on the other end of the line, then:

“Okay, sweetie. You make sure you call us the second you need anything.”

Blaine hears shuffling in the background, muffled yelling from a male voice. His father.

“-yes Will, I’m coming! I’ll call you tomorrow night, dear.”

“Okay. I love y-”

The dial tone sounds.

Blaine throws his phone at the wall.

*

Kurt Hummel paces his room, stopping every few seconds and glaring at his phone – riddled with apology messages from Sebastian, begging for his forgiveness or kindness or bail money. Sebastian had been in custody since last night, and Kurt didn’t want anything to do with him whether he was incarcerated or not.

_God, how could I be so blind?_

_He was just **using** me. _

_He doesn’t care, so neither do I._

Kurt sighs, looks back at his phone.

_Were the flowers too much?_

He picks it up, dials Blaine’s number and prays for an answer.

_Please, be okay._

*

Blaine’s about two steps away from throwing his phone out the window when the shrill, slightly startling sound of his ringtoneerupts through the room. Blaine scrambles to answer it because he knows Tina and Mike have Asian Camp training right now, so that leaves-

“Kurt?”

A sigh of relief _whooshes_ through the receiver, and Blaine smiles a little.

“Oh, thank god you’re okay – I was worried _sick_.”

Blaine’s heart skips a beat.

“You were worried…about me?”

He can almost feel Kurt’s insistence from the other end.

“Of _course_ I was worried. You were bleeding everywhere and screaming and choking on air and-“

Kurt huffs in a teary breath. He sounds slightly nauseated.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, Blaine, I really am.”

Blaine’s blood rushes a little faster.

“Well, I’m…glad you called, Kurt.”

“Will you be back at school soon? Well, once everything has healed up, of course.”

Blaine freezes.

“Uh…yeah! Sure, yeah.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon, then, I guess.”

_Sooner than you think._

“Okay!”

“Bye, Blaine. Get well soon!”

The dial tone sounds and for once, Blaine doesn’t feel like punching anything.

He still waits for Kurt to get home, safe and sound, before he lets himself get to sleep.

*

_Blaine can hear birdsong and chiming, the chatter of people; the feel in the air is almost electric. Everything around him looks surreal – the white flowers weaved through the arch above his head, the golden-glowing tent before him, the silkeny-smooth feeling of his own outfit, a tuxedo with red-_

 

_Oh._

 

_He’s at a wedding._

 

_Blaine can recognize a few faces – there’s Mike and Tina, who whoosh a congratulations at him in colour-coordinated suit and dress. Santana, who simply winks at him as she rushes past, calls out to her girlfriend._

 

_And-_

 

_“Blaine! Honey, why aren’t you in the tent?” Kurt says, eyes hitchhiking over Blaine’s appearance as his agitated, fake smile melts into something oddly familiar._

 

_“You look perfect.”_

 

_Blaine doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t even know the words were in his mouth but Kurt stutters a little and wrings his hands together like he’s trying to knead dough so it’s worth it._

 

_“So do you.” It’s earnest and slightly breathy and almost a sigh instead of a sentence._

 

_They awkwardly part ways and next thing Blaine knows he’s standing at the altar, waiting for Kurt to arrive so they can marry whoever needs to be married._

 

_The music starts, and Blaine’s about to protest when Mike nudges him towards the middle with his elbow and the crowd rises to face the door and everything clicks together at once._

 

_Kurt’s walking through, hair perfectly coiffed and eyes brighter than a Christmas tree as people offer congratulations and just smile at him, but Kurt can’t stop looking towards the front. Blaine can’t stop looking either, to be honest._

 

_Kurt arrives, after what seems like an eternity, whispering Mister Hummel-Anderson in Blaine’s ear as he takes his place at the altar, and Blaine’s heart stops._

 

_They go through the rites quickly enough and suddenly Kurt’s holding a small, silver ring at Blaine’s fingertip, crying and promising to love him forevermore and Blaine’s holding a ring and crying too._

 

_Kurt’s head is tilted a little to the side, and Blaine can’t do much more than slide hand onto cheek and kiss him before the priest was finished talking and everything’s a little wet and Blaine’s so happy he could sob and- and-_

 

_He’s falling to his knees again, a sharp pain wrenching through his back and ripping him open and there’s nothing but screaming and horrid, hot pain, burning burning burning, boiling his skin and bones and-_

Cold sweat. Blood thumping like a rabbit on crack. Panting. Blinking.

Boiling.

Blaine runs from his room, wrenches the shower handle around to full-blasted cold and huddles underneath. He can hear his skin sizzling, but he’s not burning.

It still hurts, though.

He’s there for a few hours, at the very least, before he can move again with a reasonable level of pain; he feels like an overcooked roll of salami.

The morning comes sooner than Blaine expected, and he’s still shivering with the normal body temperature.

_Maybe I shouldn’t go back to school so soon, after all._


	6. Chapter 6

 

Kurt Hummel walks the halls on Monday morning with a refined sense of pride; in the weeks beforehand, he’d prized his Cheerio trophies, his boyfriend and his popularity above all else. Ever since Blaine’s injury, though, he’d felt an overlying sense of emptiness in everything he used to cherish.

 

Sebastian had turned out to be an asshole. They’d been edging on a six month anniversary before they broke up, and Kurt had had it all planned out.

 

But then Blaine came along, with his puppy-dog eyes and little smiles that could fuel a star, and Kurt was torn. He was ready to go and hand in his resignation from the Cheerios’ before he remembered where Blaine stood in terms of the student body.

 

Yeah, he’d been stabbed in both back and heart in one night, but that wasn’t going to interest McKinley High – they’d want to know the story of how one nerdy little loser had managed to break up the school’s gay power couple and get one of them incarcerated within an hour.

 

As brave of a face as he put on, Kurt Hummel wasn’t ready to defend Blaine from those kinds of questions. He wasn’t ready to commit to something unsure, something that could put him back down at the bottom of the social pit. He remembered what it was like before.

 

So he sent some flowers, called to wish Blaine better and tried to stay strong for both of them.

 

It’s the least he could do.

 

*

 

Blaine wakes earlier than he expected on Tuesday morning – it’s still a little dark, dawn edging into the sky with a soft, blue-gold glow. It takes him a moment to figure out that his phone is ringing.

 

_Know your score for Credit Rating Today dot com!_

 

Blaine groans – he really can’t handle his brother’s Hollywood antics right now.

 

The call goes to voicemail, and Blaine sits up to listen.

 

“Blaine, pick this up when you get it, okay? I heard about what happened. I know I’ve been a shitty excuse for a brother lately, so I’m sorry.”

 

Blaine freezes. Cooper had been in L.A. for the last month. How had he _heard_ about anything? Reaching over to pick up his mobile, he scrambles to answer the call.

 

“Coop?”

 

A sigh of relief.

 

“Yeah, Squirt, I’m here.”

 

Blaine takes a breath.

 

“W-what did you hear happened to me?”

 

“I heard some jack-assed _douchebag_ tried to kill my baby brother, and I heard that I wasn’t around to protect-“

 

“-Coop, listen, you don’t need to _protect_ me. I can take care of myself-“

 

“-that doesn’t matter! What matters is that I haven’t been there.”

 

Blaine can feel Cooper mentally punching himself in the face over the phone.

 

“You don’t have to-“

 

“-but I _should_. I should be there for you, Blaine, and I couldn’t be bothered to leave L.A. _anytime_ this month to keep you some company.”

 

That does irk Blaine, a little, but he pushes it down – it’s what he’s good at – and tries to convince Cooper that he’s fine.

 

“Coop, please, I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone.”

 

The soft, small voice in the back of his throat pangs _Kurt,_ but he pushes that down too. Cooper swallows on the other end of the line.

 

“I have to go to London for a few weeks, soon. Boss wants me to meet the family.”

 

Blaine almost shouts in protest at that, but he pushes it down.

 

**_I’m_ ** _supposed to be your fucking family._

 

“He has a son, about your age. Wants me to teach him how to play ball.”

 

Push it down.

 

“I was talking to him, the other day. Says his father wants him to take over the company, marry a nice girl. He _came out_ to me, Blaine. Can you believe it?”

 

_Push it down._

 

“I just really hope I can help him ou-“

 

_That’s it._

 

Everything erupts from Blaine like a rabid dog set loose – deprived and uncontrollable.

 

“I am so _sick_ of your shit, Cooper! You think he’s got it tough? You think _you’ve_ got it tough?”

 

Cooper’s trying to interrupt, but Blaine won’t have it. Not now. He needs to do this.

 

“I almost _died_ a couple of days ago and you’re stuck on some British kid who’s worried about whether his father will accept the fact that he likes dick?”

 

“Blaine-“

 

“ _No!_ Fucking –“

 

Blaine punches at a fly that whizzes past, and feels infinitely stupider. Breathes.

 

“You know what, Cooper?” He says in a low voice. “Go to London. Adopt the kid. He can fucking _have_ you, because I’m _disgusted_ to call you my brother.”

 

He ends the call.

 

Blaine sighs, bounces firmly onto his still-unmade bed. He wants to calm down, wants to lie back and cry and wail into the morning air but he’s still so _angry_.

 

He stands, throws a fist at the wall for good measure. He almost falls forward when the wall collapses underneath the force.

 

_Wait._

 

Blaine manages to glance from the now-broken wall to his fist and back at least six times before he can fully process it.

 

“Must be weak,” he mutters. He’s not entirely convincing himself, though.

 

Another punch. More _weak_ walls.

 

Lots of dust.

 

Blaine manages to stop himself by the third punch, before he goes and all Hulks out his room. He’s not mad anymore.

 

He’s kind of fascinated, actually.

 

After he’s cleaned up the mess, Blaine re-sits down and tries to figure himself out.

 

_Sue didn’t throw those scissors at you for no reason._

 

_She said you had **abilities**. _

 

_Like superpowers?_

 

Blaine almost scoffs at himself, looks at the tarp-covered wall.

 

_Ordinary people can’t do that._

 

He lets out a breath, sucks in a gasp.

 

“So, what am I? A superhero?”

 

It sounds stupid, said aloud, but nothing else really fits the situation.

 

_I can dodge fast things._

 

_I can punch in a wall._

 

Blaine remembers the smelted, horrid feel that his skin had had for hours last night.

 

_I can…get really hot?_

 

Blaine snorts.

 

_Maybe I can learn to control it._

 

He sighs, lying back down and hoping for the best.


	7. Chapter 7

Jacob Ben Israel takes a deep breath, centres himself, and flings himself at the first person he sees.

 

“Did you hear that Sebastian’s back?”

 

“What?! Is he okay?”

 

_No, you won’t work._

 

He directs his cameraman a little to the left, squints. Grins.

 

_Perfect._

 

“Kurt Hummel, head cheerio and ex-boyfriend of the now released from custody-”

 

“-wait, what?” Kurt stops.

 

Jacob grins wider.

 

_Perfect._

 

“You haven’t heard? Sebastian’s been released.”

 

Kurt splutters for a moment, eyes blinking shock-wide.

 

“H-he can’t be…he – he tried to…”

 

“He’s back, Hummel.” Jacob says, adding a bit of hiss-whisper for dramatic effect. “And don’t take my word for it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had something bad storming for Anderson.”

 

Jacob almost-struts away, not bothering to look back at Kurt’s face.

 

*

 

_Fuck. Shit fuck fuck fu-_

 

“Calm your shit, Hummel.” He mutters under hasty breaths, trying to organize his frantic thoughts into one clear, clean-cut stream of idea.

 

_Oh god he’s back, Sebastian’s back and if you thought he was out for blood before-_

 

Breathes. Leans at his locker.

 

_Blaine was in intensive care – it takes months, if not years, to recover from that kind of injury._

 

_You have time. You can damage control. So **calm down.**_

 

Kurt smiles, internally, and turns to walk to his first class.

 

_Blaine won’t even be able to **walk** for a long-_

 

“Kurt?”

 

Kurt spins on his heel.

 

_No, no, no nope not happening what no-_

 

“Blaine?” He sounds a lot more desperate than he’d like to.

 

It’s Blaine, it’s definitely Blaine – but there’s something different about him.

 

Something _more_.

 

He looks slightly taller, more muscled; if one compared this Blaine to the Blaine that Kurt had known last week, one could say they were distantly related. Blaine’s skin looks fresher, his stance is more confident, and-

 

_Oh._

 

_Dear god._

 

-and Blaine had been stabbed in the back – quite literally – a few days ago.

 

He’d bled out on Kurt’s hands and neck. He’d been put in intensive care.

 

Kurt had been told he probably wouldn’t ever walk again.

 

_Why is he here?_

 

“Ha! It’s me!”

 

*

 

_God what do you think he’s thinking you were stabbed normal people don’t just get stabbed and walk free hell half of them don’t walk at all what the fuck were you going to do, just walk up to him and declare yourself immortal? A superhero? Really? You’re **supposed** to be dead. _

 

“Ha! It’s me!” Blaine forces a smile.

 

_Great, just fucking great._

 

“B-Blaine, what are you doing here?”

 

_Shit._

 

“Doctor said I could come back, and I didn’t want to miss out on my studies too much, so…” Blaine smiles again. This time, Kurt smiles back, but he looks nervous.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Kurt grimaces, looks around the hall to make sure no-one’s within hearing distance.

 

“Sebastian’s out of custody.”

 

Blaine’s heart drops.

 

He slumps back against his locker, face falling.

 

“He’s gonna try and get me again, isn’t he?”

 

Blaine doesn’t want to know but at the same time, he kind of does.

 

“It’s rumoured.”

 

_Shit **.**_

 

Blaine breathes out slow, turns towards the school entrance. He can see Sebastian through the windows, grinning stupidly at his friends and making his way into McKinley High.

 

“Well, there’s only one thing for it.”

 

Kurt perks up, surprised. “What?”

 

Blaine grimaces.

 

“I’ll have to get to him first.”

 

*

 

Kurt’s mind just stops.

 

Blaine’s off, walking slowly but still far too fast towards the glass doors that are the only thing separating him and his _attempted murderer_ and _what the fuck Kurt, this is suicide, **go after him.**_

 

And Kurt’s off too.

 

*

 

“Who do you think you are?”

 

The sentence comes out as more of a growl and before he can register it, Blaine is standing behind Sebastian. Sebastian glances over his shoulder, a slow smile expanding through his face.

 

Blaine’s pretty sure he’s never been angrier.

 

Sebastian turns to face him, nodding at his friends to step behind him. Cracks his knuckles.

 

“Anderson, what a pity – I thought I’d never get to see you again.” Friends laughing behind him, Sebastian steps closer.

 

Blaine scoffs.

 

“I’m sure you’d like that, Sebastian.” He says. “Especially with the whole trying-to-kill-me thing.”

 

One of Sebastian’s friends decides to chime in.

 

“Oh please, nerd _,_ you’re far too annoying to just _die_.”

 

Sebastian, however, has frozen to the spot.

 

“ _What_ did you say?” Steps forward.

 

“ _I said_ you tried to kill me.” Holds his ground.

 

Sebastian laughs, noticeably nervous. Glances at his friends.

 

“You’re gonna wish you were dead when I’m through with you.”

 

Sebastian launches forward, fist raised and Blaine is more than ready to kick his ass back to it’s infant years when-

 

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

 

*

 

- _stop him stop them both fuck oh god-_

 

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

 

Kurt doesn’t know how the words came out of his mouth, how he’s suddenly gone from hiding behind the crowd to standing face-face with Sebastian. He doesn’t know what’s suddenly fuelling his intention to grab Sebastian’s clenched fist and almost-scream in his face.

 

Sebastian, however, seems to have an idea.

 

“Oh, what’s wrong with me? Maybe it’s the fact that I got _arrested_ for trying to get my boyfriend back.”

 

Kurt can see him playing it up, girls in the crowd _awww_ -ing and all, and he’s far too close to just wrenching his head off his shoulders but this is _his_ domain.

 

“Please, Sebastian, don’t act like you ever had a chance.”

 

“What? Is that complete waste of a person-”

 

“-I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”

 

Sebastian smiles, chuckles a little.

 

“Is he _really_ better than me? Does he fuck your tight little ass better than me?”

 

Kurt feels Blaine tensing behind him, and he doesn’t have to look to know that one more stupid line like that could have him lashing out.

 

“You know, Sebastian, I’m pretty sure half the girls in this school could _fuck me_ better than you ever did.”

 

Blaine snorts, and Kurt feels a small surge of something warm in his chest.

 

“I’m pretty sure your little boyfriend is a lying cunt.”

 

Sebastian’s lashing, tossing out whatever line he thinks will stab deepest, and Kurt needs to stop him _._ Moving past the crowd, past Sebastian, he tries to leave.

 

“He’s not my boyfriend. Sebastian, I really don’t have time for this-“

 

“-don’t walk away from me, baby, don’t you dare-“

 

Sebastian obviously didn’t mean to slip it out, and he sounds a little more desperate than he intends to and Kurt wants to cry, but he doesn’t quite know what for.

 

“You don’t getto call me that anymore! You don’t get to talk about me, or call me baby, or hurt me-“

 

“-and it’s all _his_ fault!”

 

Time seems to freeze between them, and the crowd begins to mutter again before Kurt’s painfully sharp, clear-cut voice interrupts them for the last time.

 

“If you were a decent person, you wouldn’t be blaming it on anyone but yourself.”

 

He almost-runs into the nearest classroom, shuts the door and brings his knees up to his chest as he finally lets the tears fall.


	8. Chapter 8

The day seemingly passes drudgingly slow, for most, but for Blaine it goes faster than a goldfish attention-span. He’s at his locker, clearing out most of his books, humming subconsciously down the abandoned hallway to himself when he hears it; the sharp, strong _bang_ of a gunshot.

 

Blaine freezes, looks up. He can see Sebastian at the end of the hall, the dimming daylight casting an almost-ominous shadow across his face. He reloads, aims true for Blaine’s chest and Blaine braces himself for another week in the hospital when he’s suddenly on the other side of the corridor, a small chunk missing from the locker next to his.

 

Blaine smirks.

 

_He missed anyway._

 

But then Sebastian’s turning again and pulling the trigger and Blaine’s shoulder becomes the pinpoint of all the pain in the world, vacuuming and throbbing and screaming and knees are hitting the floor and Blaine just wants to curl up but _god,_ he doesn’t want to die.

 

“I made a promise, Anderson.”

 

A sharp kick to his stomach.

 

“I intend to keep it.”

 

Blaine rolls onto his back, coughing and wheezing for air and _Kurt._

 

“You think that little slut’s going to save you now?” Sebastian chuckles. Crouches down next to him, face so close to Blaine’s that he can feel his breath. “It’s just you and me, Blainey.”

 

Cold metal presses to his temple, and Blaine briefly wonders where Sebastian got the gun before the trigger clicks.

 

Sebastian curses under his breath, fumbling to reload and Blaine’s head-butting him and _ow, fuck_ and then Blaine’s running towards the entrance, slamming against the doors and clutching at the handle which is locked far too thoroughly for a public high school because seriously, what are people going to steal? Two bags of standard-brand instant coffee? Decade-old textbooks?

 

There’s slamming against a locker again, an almost-inaudible growl and Blaine’s running back, straight past Sebastian and clocking him in the shoulder as he runs to the football field. It’s really not worth it, though, because pain throbs down to his fingertips  as he scoots through the bleachers and his vision is blacking and-

 

Dead end.

 

_Fuck._

 

He runs to the brick wall, on instinct more than anything else, pushing his fingertips along the roughness and feeling nothing but desperation, heart quaking in fear. Footsteps clatter, louder and slower until they finally stop behind him, and he spins on his heel to see Sebastian there, raising his gun and looking victorious and Blaine wants to fall to his knees and scream and beg for his life so he falls to his knees and-

 

“Where are you, Anderson?” Sebastian calls out, mockingly, waving his gun at the area above Blaine’s head.

 

_What._

 

Blaine has a small, few-second theory that Sebastian has already killed him and this is his heaven, which is pretty shitty, to be honest. He doesn’t really need to be haunting the halls of McKinley forever.

 

He reaches down to shift the weight off his shoulder, slumping onto his side and running a hand across the wound to see how bad the bleeding is. Blaine can feel the stickiness of the drying blood, and he brings his hand up to eye level to-

 

Oh.

 

There’s no hand there.

 

_That’s reassuring._

 

Blaine glances down, briefly, at his now blood-covered shirt and-

 

_No._

 

_No way._

 

_…_

 

**_No._ **

 

Gaping, Blaine leans forward, hand outstretched, until he feels solid ground beneath his fingertips. Relief clicks back through him, and he stops trembling.

 

Sebastian yells at the wall a few more times. Shoots, storms off. Blaine doesn’t want to move, even after he’s gone. He can hear thunder in the distance, though.

 

“Storms coming,” he mutters to himself.

 

Blaine tries to stand up, and groans far too loudly for his own liking.

 

“Blaine?”

 

He fumbles to get behind a dumpster in time and the voice rings through again, loud and clear.

 

“Blaine Warbler, I saw yo-“

 

“-please don’t hurt me.” The words are out before he knows it, and sound much more like a sob than a sentence.

 

There’s silence, and then footsteps, and then there’s a person next to him, and he’s squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he can because it’s the only thing he can do.

 

“Blaine, who hurt you?”

 

Blaine un-squints his eyes, just a little, and is more than a little shocked to see Brittany standing there.

 

“Brittany? Why are you here?”

 

She shrugs, her ponytail bouncing.

 

“I heard you were hurt, and I don’t like it when people are hurt.” She frowns. “Who hurt you, Blaine?”

 

Blaine hesitates. “Sebastian.”

 

Brittany nods, scrunching up her face in concentration for a moment before beaming at Blaine, holding out her hand.

 

“Can I take you home, Blaine?”

 

“I’m gay, Brittany.”

 

“I know. I didn’t mean it like that; I need to fix up your shoulder.” She pauses. “I am, too.”

 

Blaine takes her hand.

 

“You are?”

 

She beams brighter.

 

“Yup.”

 

“A-and you’re fine with me knowing this?”

 

Brittany tilts her head to the side.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Blaine looks at her, just for a second, and can see that she trusts him. No obligations. No doubts. No hiding.

 

He sighs, nods. “You can take me home.”

 

Brittany squeals, bouncing on her toes.

 

“Can I make you a costume?”

 

“ _What?”_

 

“A costume. It’d be hard to beat up people in jeans all the time, wouldn’t it?”

 

Blaine splutters. Brittany looks at him with wide, imploring eyes, and he bites back a _no._

 

“Okay, Brittany.” He’s grinning a little, he can’t help himself. “You can make me a costume.”

 

_You’re not gonna use it._

 

_Oh, shush._

 

Brittany’s smile stretches wider, somehow, and she hugs Blaine for a quick second before practically dragging him to her car. Blaine feels something warm twist up in his chest, something different to when Kurt looks at him.

 

“Brittany, are we friends?”

 

She pauses, key in hand, and just smiles at him.

 

“I think we’re best friends, Blaine.”

 

They leave McKinley High peacefully, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing ahead.


	9. Chapter 9

Blaine doesn’t really know what he expected Brittany’s house to look like – maybe a little less homey _,_ what with the attitude she brings to school every day – but nonetheless, he likes it.

 

The entire place has a kind of open feeling to it, yet seems somewhat unfamiliarly ominous; Blaine guesses that if he were here more often, he might be able to figure out what was so _different_ about Brittany’s home.

 

A small squeal echoes down the hallway, followed by even smaller-sounding footsteps, and the difference is suddenly all too clear to Blaine.

 

A curvy, middle-aged woman emerges from the archway, holding a small bundle of blankets that seem to be clutching to her for life.

 

_Her family’s here **.**_

 

The woman whispers something to the bundle, and it immediately begins to squeal again.

 

“Brit! Wanna see Brit!”

 

_Oh._

 

Brittany steps forward, outstretching her arms and as the bundle shifts towards her, Blaine catches a glimpse of a tiny face.

 

“Hey, sweetie.” Brittany coos, tucking the bundle over her shoulder.

 

“I missed you today, Brit. Me and mommy did some colouring!”

 

“I missed you too, Pres. Can I take off the cloak?”

 

Blaine raises an eyebrow at _the cloak,_ but Brittany just upturns a lip at him and winks.

 

There’s a moment of silence, then an _okay._

 

Brittany one-handedly shifts off the first blanket, letting it rest around the child’s shoulders, and Blaine gets the _cloak_ bit, and he suddenly feels like crying. The girl only looks about four or five – she’s incredibly pale, and she’s smiling at Brittany like she’s seeing the ocean for the first time.

 

What Blaine can’t help notice, though, is the large bandage that almost completely covers the upper side of her head.

 

“This is Blaine, Presley. Do you wanna say hi?”

 

Presley looks over at him for a split second, her mouth turning wide at the corners, and Blaine must be having a thing for making people smile today because the second her little mouth curves around a _hello_ his heart swoons.

 

“Could you take her upstairs for a while, Brit? I need to get some chores done.” The woman, whom Blaine assumes is Brittany’s mother, suddenly looks a lot more exhausted than a few minutes ago.

 

Brittany nods without a word, beckoning Blaine upstairs, bundle back over her shoulder. Blaine follows, locking eyes with Presley and smiling genuinely for the first time in what feels too long.

 

*

 

Presley is settled, playing with building blocks in a separate room, and Brittany sits on her bed next-door and Blaine wants to ask so, so badly but he knows it’s not his place.

 

“Leukemia.”

 

Blaine’s heart drops. “What?”

 

“It was leukemia, about six months ago. They say it’s died down, for now.” She huffs, almost-mockingly. “I still worry about her every day, though.”

 

There’s an _oh, Brittany_ and stepping forward and next thing he knows, Blaine’s got his head tucked into the crook of her neck and he’s not even trying not to tear up.

 

“Please, don’t say sorry. Too many people have said sorry.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Blaine scoots backwards, out of the hug, and his shoulder pangs. He flinches, and Brittany sees it.

 

“I’m so sorry, but I’m no good with blood - I’ve called someone who knows their way around wounds, though.”

 

Blaine’s almost afraid to ask, but he doesn’t really need to because within a minute, Brittany’s door is flying open and the girl that walks in has Blaine scrambling into the corner and trying not to scream.

 

“ _Aaaaaaaaaah_ -“

 

“-oh shut up, Anderson.” Santana Lopez barely spares him a glance before turning back to Brittany, raising an eyebrow.

 

“You know I’m no good with blood, okay? You are.”

 

Blaine really doesn’t appreciate how close he comes to asking _why._ Santana grumbles, turns to Blaine again.

 

“Shirt off.”

 

“E-excuse me?” He splutters.

 

Santana scoffs. “If you want to ruin your hideously bad Star Trek-“

 

“-Star _Wars-“_

 

“-fine, Star _Wars_ t-shirt then by all means, keep it on. I have no burning desire to see those freakishly mismatched abs of yours.”

 

“I don’t have abs-“

 

“You can punch in a wall, sweetie, I’m  pretty sure you’ve got abs of some kind.”

 

Blaine pauses. _Wait._

 

“How do you know about that?”

 

“There’s a reason I used to be Head Cheerio, you know. Sue doesn’t tell Hummel _everything_.” Santana softens. “I can do stuff, too.”

 

_Asdfghjkl;_

 

“Y-you can?”

 

“Me too,” Brittany chimes in. “It’s how we met; one of the guys stuffed up one of my flips, and she caught me mid-air. I erased everyone’s memory, after that, but Coach had already seen. She let us stay on the squad as long as we didn’t let anyone else know. Well-“

 

“-anyone sane, right?”

 

Santana smiles. “Yeah.”

 

Blaine’s shoulder pangs, and he noticeably flinches. Removing his shirt as shamelessly as possible, he looks up at Santana.

 

“Could you…”

 

Santana nods, leans forward. Smooths over his shoulder. “Shit.”

 

Blaine gulps. “What?”

 

“It’s healed. Brit, get me a towel and something sharp.”

 

“Wait, what do yo-“

 

Brittany’s back within a minute, holding a knife, towel and a small stress ball.

 

“Blaine, put this in your mouth.”

 

“Why?”

 

Brittany sighs. “If you want to wake up all the cats in the neighbourhood, go ahead and leave it out.”

 

Blaine puts the ball in his mouth. Squeezes his eyes shut.

 

“I’m gonna count to three, and then I’m going to stab your shoulder.”

 

Blaine’s eyes open, widen.

 

“I need to get this bullet out, or it’ll fuck up your system, ‘kay?”

 

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut again, clenching his fists.

 

“One, two-“

 

“OHMYFUCKAHH-“

 

Blaine wheezes, shoulder exploding in pain as his mind flashes back to crying and knees hitting cheap lino and the coldest laugh in the world and-

 

“Blaine?”

 

It’s Brittany, smiling grimly up at him, and the memories drown out, if just for a second.

 

“Done.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

Santana blushes. “I’m fast, okay? It’s kind of my thing.”

 

“Thanks, Santana.”

 

Brittany giggles.

 

*

 

They’ve been making small talk for about an hour, chattering away like the golden trio, when Brittany finally speaks properly.

 

“Where do you go from here?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Brittany stands, using her hands to elaborate.

 

“You became super, you found out you were super, you found _other_ supers…Now what?”

 

Blaine pauses, pondering a thought.

 

“What if I do something with it?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What if I use it to protect people? My powers, I could use them for protecting people from crime!”

 

Santana scoffs.

 

“What?”

 

“No offence, Blaine, but you got shot on the second go by a _high school kid._ I don’t think you’re quite ready to step up to muggers and rapists.”

 

Blaine stops, head down. Head up.

 

“What if you guys taught me?”

 

“Taught you…?”

 

“How to fight! How to defend people, how to be tough!”

 

Brittany freezes, looking back at him.

 

“That just might work.”

 

“ _What?!”_

 

“Think about it, San. We’re not doing anything with our powers, but at least we know what to do with them. If we help out Blaine, he could do something with his!”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“I’d get to make another costume…please?”

 

Brittany looks at her, puppy-eyed, and Santana sighs. “Fine.”

 

“Yes!”

 

Blaine grins, giddy and light.

 

“Oooh, we need a name!”

 

“A name?”

 

“All superheros have a name!” Brittany grins, picking up a nearby book and pencil. “What can you do, Blaine?”

 

“Well, I got really hot this one time, and-”

 

Santana snorts.

 

“I know.”

 

Brittany’s eyes light up about five times before she speaks again.

 

“Blaine, you transferred from Dalton at the start of last year, right?”

 

“…Yeah?”

 

“And they had uniforms there, right? Matching blazer and tie?”

 

Blaine nods.

 

_I can’t see where this is going._

 

Brittany grins at him. “Blazer.”

 

“What?”

 

“Well, a blaze is another word for fire, right? And we could base your costume off Dalton’s uniforms!”

 

“No, no,” Santana interrupts, “That’d be too obvious. It’d link him straight to the school.”

 

“We can at least mix around with the colours a little, right?”

 

“Fine.”

 

Brittany grins. “I’ll probably have a solid idea by tomorrow.”

 

Santana grins. “Well, _Blazer,_ ready to learn how to kick ass?”

 

Blaine sighs.

 

“As I’ll ever be.”


	10. Chapter 10

_Breathy moans fill the air as Blaine bucks into his own hand, chest flushed a desperate red, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead._

 

_“Baby, let me, please-“ and then Kurt’s reaching between his thighs, replacing calloused fingers with long, skilled ones that somehow know just how and where to twist and turn to have Blaine panting for breath like he’d just ran a mile._

 

_“A-are you close?” Kurt’s murmuring along his collarbone in-between wet kisses, quickening the strokes._

 

_Blaine can only pant out **please** and buck into Kurt’s smooth, confident touches as he comes, and then he’s pulling Kurt to his chest and kissing him with absolutely no technique, turning him over, staring him down with dark eyes and whispering **my turn.**_

 

“Oh, god, Blaine-“

 

Kurt’s suddenly sitting up in bed, limbs loose and lax and a frustrated sigh emerging from his lips. Ever since Blaine had shown that small spark of confidence, Kurt had been having ever-increasingly… _inappropriate_ thoughts about him.

 

Then the thoughts grew to dreams and Kurt could explain that away to himself, at least, seeing that you can’t control your dreams, but then came the fantasies. The un-accidental lingering glances at Blaine’s newly-formed muscles, the urge to push Blaine onto the nearest surface and block out the rest of the world with sweet nothings and tongues and touches. Kurt Hummel had been running blind ever since.

 

“Kurt? You awake, dude?”

 

_Fuck._

 

Kurt tries to make sure his voice is under control before answering, but it comes out as a squeak anyway.

 

“I – yeah, Finn, I’m awake.”

 

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to fly?”

 

Kurt pauses, turning his head ever-so-slowly towards his brother’s bed.

 

“Have you been eating Puck’s cupcakes again?” He deadpans.

 

“Nope.” Finn replies. “Flying seems pretty cool, though, don’t you think?”

 

“It does – but why the sudden interest?”

 

“I’m not really sure.”

 

There’s a moment of silence before Finn speaks again.

 

“Maybe it’s like a – a subliminal…sub…”

 

“Subconscious?”

 

“That! Maybe it’s one of those things.”

 

“Feeling a desire to fly.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Kurt scrunches his eyes before rolling over to his side, curling up into a half-ball.

 

“I have an astoundingly conscious desire to sleep, so-“

 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, bro, I just needed to-“

 

“I know, Finn. Go to sleep too, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Ever since Kurt’s big bang with Sebastian, Finn had been increasingly overprotective of him. Carole hadn’t let him go to school on the first day back, for fear that he might lose his temper and leave a Sebastian-shaped hole in one of McKinley’s walls.

 

(To be honest, both Burt and Kurt hadn’t seen the problem in this scenario.)

 

Finn had looked out for him since day one, but the fact remained that it had been more so since he and Sebastian broke up. Since Blaine had been stabbed.

 

_Don’t think about him. You won’t go back to sleep, don’t you dare-_

 

_Great._

 

Kurt sighs, snuggling into his pillow and breathing out slowly.

 

_You’re going to be dreaming about him until you die, aren’t you?_

 

_*_

 

“Oh, god, Blaine-“

 

Blaine lowers his hands, glaring over at Santana.

 

“ _-what?”_

 

“You’re focusing too much.”

 

“I’m focusing _too –_ you – I –“

 

“Blaine, calm down. This isn’t _only_ about focusing.”

 

“Then what’s it about?”

 

“Control.”

 

Blaine groans, dropping his arms completely to the side and banging his head back against the warehouse wall.

 

“You still haven’t told me where you got this place.”

 

“What makes you think it’s mine?”

 

Blaine stares at her, and Santana looks far too amused for Blaine not to worry when Brittany walks in on them.

 

“I have a theory.” She says, twisting her ponytail.

 

Blaine perks up. “What?”

 

Brittany, however, is ignoring him in favour of looking questioningly at Santana.

 

“No. He can’t handle it – he needs more practise.”

 

Brittany rubs at her shoulders, fingers sliding roughly across the silver sheen that’s serving as a makeshift cape (Blaine was the only one that actually had had a costume made – all black, small tendrils of red-flame dancing over the shoulders and mask – but Brittany insisted on joining in as well.)

 

“We’ve been _practising_ for the last two weeks, and all he’s really improved on is his ability to put up with your ability to nag and yell at the same time.”

 

“I still can’t stand it, though.”

 

“Shut it, Winkle Twin.”

 

Brittany steps forward, laying a hand on Santana’s shoulder.

 

“I just want to help him, San. Please.”

 

Santana sighs, pacing her foot against the ground and refusing to look Brittany in the eye.

 

“You okay with this, Blaine?”

 

“I-I don’t really know what it is.”

 

Blaine feels confused, so he tries to look as knowledgeable as he can. Santana opens her mouth to explain, but Brittany shakes her head.

 

“An element of surprise _did_ always work better.” She says, smiling. “You’d know that better than anyone, honey.”

 

Santana can’t help but smile back, and huff out a small _fine._

 

 “Guys?”

 

Blaine can’t help but feel a _little_ unsure about this. “What are you doing?”

 

Both Brittany and Santana grow into more serious expressions, and their eyes pan to the ground.

 

“You know, San, I don’t really know why we’re even trying anymore.”

 

“I know, Brit. It has been two weeks, after all, and he’s still just as pathetic as ever.”

 

Blaine perks up, and a small pang of doubt rushes all-too-quick through him.

 

“…Guys?”

 

“Personally, I don’t think he’ll ever be good enough.”

 

They’re both ignoring him, pacing around the warehouse and speaking into empty air. Blaine wants to talk back, wants to brush their remarks off as nothing more than an unamusing joke, but he can’t seem to move from his place against the wall.

 

“That’sthe sad life story of Blaine Anderson, though; _constant_ failure. Unacceptance.” She hesitates. “Lost love.”

 

_Head down. Hands up. Don’t react, it’ll make them worse._

 

**_Push it down._ **

 

“I don’t think he knows just how pathetic he is, though.” and Santana’s breathing heavy, head down, slight tremble in her voice. “How little he matters.”

 

“Please, just stop.” It’s nothing more than a whispered sob, but it manages to break both of the girls’ faces. Santana turns away from him, shaking her head; Brittany steps into her place, speaking directly at Blaine.

 

“You’re never going to amount to anything.”

 

“Brittany, please-“

 

“-no, I’m sick of you. I’m sick of your face and your stupid sense of humour-“

 

_Push it down._

 

“-and your constant failure and the fact that I have to spend _hours-“_

 

_Liquid fire spreading electric through the veins, crackling and filling and raw but contained-_

 

“-and _days_ trying to help you when I have so, so many better things to do that to deal with your shit!”

 

“Like what, Brittany? What do you have to do, deal with your fucking freak of a sister-“

 

Blaine doesn’t know where the words came from, but they’re pouring out of his mouth like an erupting volcano and he doesn’t know how to stop himself.

 

“-at least my family’s here, Blaine! They _care_ about me! What does your family do, huh? I don’t even think they fucking know how old you are!”

 

Blaine goes blank, and the heat spreads to his fingertips because it has to go somewhere or he’ll explode.

 

“How’s your brother going, Blaine? Big Hollywood actor, family trophy.”

 

_Wildfire crackling through bone and vein and nerve endings set alight and it’s all burning but it’s never felt better and spreading and-_

 

“Kurt would probably fuck him over you, you know. Would want him more.”

 

_It’s just getting faster, not hotter, speeding through and linking arms with bloodstream and marrow and skin-_

 

Blaine’s glowing white, the aura circling his suit and the heat is still spreading but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t scorch Blaine the way it did that first night  because he _is_ the heat, it’s his skin and blood and thought and breath-

 

Brittany’s trembling now, but she keeps talking.

 

“You’ll never be anything more than that pathetic, weak little kid who can’t stand up for himself.”

 

Blaine snaps, and so the heat snaps too, clicking out of his skin and rushing through the air and hitting the walls and roof and scorching it black, burning the cheap aluminium to nothing and the warehouse is crumbling and falling and everyone but him is screaming and then the air the sun is shining far too brightly and-

 

_You just disintegrated a building._

 

“Shit,” Blaine says, and then he’s falling to his knees and Santana’s catching him, laying him on his back, removing his mask and her hands are too cold and he wants to ask if she’s okay but he can’t do much more than lie there and breathe to the top of his lungs and back and Brittany’s holding a washcloth to his head and apologizing and apologizing again and asking him to say something, anything and-

 

“Whose warehouse was it?”

 

Blaine knows exactly where the words come from, a little deep and choked and the breath leaves him just from speaking.

 

“Sebastian’s.”

 

Everything’s quiet, for a second, before Blaine laughs, smoked and unclear and so inappropriately joyous that Santana can’t help but grin back, toothy and wide and Blaine still can’t breathe but he wheezes out a small chuckle and then Brittany’s looking down at him, lip upturned and the only one in the room looking sad enough for the occasion.

 

“You were right before, Blaine.”

 

“About what?”

 

Santana smiles. “You do get really hot.”

 

Blaine’s grin is carved into his face as the girls help him up, walking him over to his car, giggling all the way.

 

“Well, _Blazer_ , you ready?”

 

Blaine’s grin falls. “What now?”

 

Santana’s grin seems to pick up his, doubling.

 

“Let’s go see how well Ohio’s criminals fare against you, yeah?”


	11. Chapter 11

“Where are we going?”

 

They’ve been driving for about an hour, the three of them, and Blaine can’t hold himself back any longer.

 

“You’ll see.”

 

Blaine lets out a muffled _ugh,_ slumps back against the car window, stares out into the night.

 

“I _am_ the one geared up like a total idiot here.”

 

“So?”

 

“So it would be nice if I could have _some_ clue as to where you’re sending me?”

 

The car lurches to the right, and there’s neon lights glowing in the distance, cheesy music playing just-audibly. The unmistakable scent of cheap beer and cocktails and-

 

_Oh, god no_.

 

“Please – tell me – you’re not actually-“

 

Santana just turns around and gives him a _look,_ and Blaine bites the sentence off before he can contradict himself. They stop at the end of the street, and Blaine wants to roll over or curl up into a ball or both because he’s not getting out of the car.

 

“You’re getting out of the car, Blaine.”

 

“No I’m not.” Blaine wants to berate himself for how utterly _childish_ he sounds.

 

“Yes, you are-” and Santana’s opening the door and grabbing the nub of his ear and pinching and pulling him out onto the pavement and _ow ouch oh god let go fuck_ and then Blaine’s sitting against the cold pavement, crossing his arms and-

 

“Blaine, get up.”

 

“Nope.”

 

Santana sighs, crouching down and adjusting his chin so that Blaine can’t really look anywhere but her face without closing his eyes.

 

“Look, Blaine, I know you’re scared.”

 

“I’m not-”

 

“-yes you are.”

 

Blaine scrunches his eyes and tries to ignore her.

 

“You’ve got a right to be scared; that’s something we can all agree on. The thing is, nothing’s really going to help make you less scared apart from you actually doing this. You seem to be stuck on is the fact that you might not be ready yet.”

 

Blaine wrenches his head from her hands, leans back against the car door.

 

“That’s because I’m _not_ ready – I don’t even really know what powers I have, let alone how to bring them out, or control them.”

 

He props himself up on one hand, glancing quickly at the building a few short metres away.

 

“What does _Scandals_ have to do with crime-fighting anyway?”

 

“Some of those costumes _could_ be considered felonies.” Brittany chimes in.

 

“They’re not just felonies, they deserve the life sentence – anyway, Blaine, you’ve got to realize the fact that at least a little bit of what Brit said before was true; we’ve been practising on focus and control for weeks, and we’ve gotten nowhere.”

 

“What’s your grandiose suggestion, then, hmm?”

 

Santana springs to her feet, offering a hand to Blaine. He pushes himself up against the car, sliding his figure into a standing position along the side.

 

“We find a criminal, we remind you about how much your life currentlysucks, and we let the ball roll from there.”

 

“So what, you’re just going to make me angry again?”

 

“No, you’re going to remember how angry you _were,_ and you’re going to draw your power from that.”

 

Blaine pauses, considering. “You still haven’t told me why we’re at a gay bar.”

 

“We’re here because all the people who come here are already in costume, tacky as it may be, so you won’t look too distinguishable – also, everyone here is either too drunk or high-”

 

“-or both.” Brittany adds.

 

Santana smiles at her. “- _or_ _both_ to be making any sense, so unless you manage to disintegrate another building then we’ll have a pretty decent cover-up.”

 

Blaine stares at her.

 

Santana smirks. “You can’t fault it, can you?”

 

Blaine sighs.

 

“I can’t fault it.” He steps forward, holding out his hand.

 

“Give me the mask.”

 

*

 

“Finn?”

 

Kurt glances up from his lap as his brother walks past, carrying a small cardboard box.

 

“Mhmmm?” Finn hums in reply, settling the box down on the bed.

 

“Okay, first – what’s with the box?”

 

“It’s my emergency supply.” Finn answers simply, smile stretching to the tips of his cheeks.

 

“Of? And what for?” Kurt cracks his neck up, eyes tracing the marks on his roof.

 

“Emergency stuff-“

 

“Wait, like a first aid kit?”

 

Finn shakes his head, clawing his fingernails at the tape surrounding the box.

 

“Rachel has one – I found it that one time that I helped her redecorate her room. She said it was only for ‘specialized circumstances’, like break-ups and stuff.” The tape finally catches on one of Finn’s teeth, and he grins as he begins to peel it away. “I was kinda confused about the whole keeping-chocolate-in-a-box thing.”

 

Kurt snorts, twisting his body towards Finn’s side of the room.

 

“So, what’s in your _emergency supply?”_ Kurt asks, stifles of laughter still escaping from the back of his throat.

 

“Nutella, donuts, _Finding Nemo_ and…”

 

“…And?” Kurt prompts, scooting closer.

 

“It’s still in progress, okay?”

 

Kurt laughs, high and clear, and he almost forgets to stop himself until Finn holds out a spoon.

 

“What’s that for?”

 

“This is a specialized…circumstance, isn’t it?”

 

Kurt sits on the edge of Finn’s bed, eyebrows raised. “Forgive me, but I’m not exactly seeing the emergency.”

 

“ _Forgive me_ , but I’m pretty sure I know you a lot better than most people. I know when you’re pissed, or upset.”

 

“What’s the emergency, then, Einstein?” Kurt asks, graciously accepting a spoonful of Nutella.

 

“You like someone, but you’re too scared to acknowledge it.”

 

Kurt almost chokes on his spoon, leaning forward and coughing up into chocolate-y air. He’s about to deny it, but he can see the look in Finn’s eyes; his brother rarely ever looks so determined, so sure of what he thinks. Kurt doesn’t want to ruin that for him.

 

“How did you know?” He asks evenly, glancing everywhere but Finn.

 

Finn’s face curves naturally into a more serious smile as he shrugs, continues unpacking the box.

 

“You’ve had your pining-after-a-guy face on all week – the one you always had when you were crushing on Sebastian, and I know it’s not about Sebastian because you would’ve objected to me punching him in the face.”

 

“You didn’t punch him in the face.”

 

“You didn’t tell me not to.”

 

Kurt pushes himself from the bed, walking the length of his bedroom and back as he listens to Finn.

 

“It’s not just that, though.” Finn continues. “You look a lot happier then you did when you were crushing on Sebastian.”

 

“Maybe that’s because I realized what an insufferable douche he was.” Kurt answers, snarky and sudden, facing away from Finn.

 

“Maybe, but that’s not going to make anyone happy, let alone you. So there’s someone you like.”

 

Kurt pauses in his pacing, chest heaving in and out and little sighs of air whispering like a broken record.

 

“W-what makes you think I’m scared?” He asks nasally, fist clenched tight at his side, eyes itchy and wet.

 

Finn stands, follows him to the end of the bedroom, lays a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I know you; if you wanted this guy as much as I think you do, then you would’ve gone after him already.” He pauses. “Unless there was something holding you back.”

 

Kurt opens his mouth to reply, to make some kind of denying statement, to defend himself, and there isn’t a sound in the room aside from the quiet _whoosh_ of air into both their lungs.

 

“Maybe you’re right.”


	12. Chapter 12

“It’s been three hours, Santana, I don’t think this is-“

 

Santana holds up a sharply manicured finger, and Brittany’s hand is suddenly over Blaine’s mouth.

 

“Shh,” Santana whispers, crouching further down and peering cautiously around the side of the dumpster.

 

After they’d arrived, Santana had quickly escorted the three of them to the classically-clichéd, dimly-lit alleyway and told them to find separate hiding spots – Santana behind a dumpster at the front end of the alley, and Brittany and Blaine crouching in the arch of a doorway further down, pressed flat-as-possible against the slow-rotting wood – and to wait.

 

Blaine’s about to protest again, because he’s protested far too few times about the current situation, but then Santana curls herself into a ball and disappears and then Brittany’s gone too, solid but silent next to him, clutching at his hand tightly for a second before whispering _good luck_ and letting go.

 

Blaine almost groans out loud, but then he hears racing footsteps pattering against the pavement, and his heart seems to try to match their pace.

 

A few seconds pass, and then there’s two figures against the dirty wall no more than a few metres away from him, one brandishing a gun and throwing menacing, hushed threats at the other. Blaine can hear pleading, soft and naive, from the second figure – a girl with sun-kissed hair and skin and an outfit far too classy for her to be living in Ohio – as she’s demanded of her purse, her valuables, as the man’s hand slides a little lower-

 

She glances off to the side – it was probably out of instinct more than anything else, and Blaine knows she can’t see him because he’s utterly _terrified –_ and Blaine looks up and locks eyes with her, and he can see nothing but his own desperation reflected.

 

“Hey!”

 

*

 

“Maybe you’re right.”

 

Kurt wants to slap himself for letting it slip out so easily, wants to cry until he can’t breathe, wants to curl Blaine up in his arms and never let go.

 

“Dude-”

 

“-please, Finn, don’t call me that.”

 

“Who was it?”

 

Kurt sighs, rubbing fingertips at one another. “His name is Blaine.”

 

“Blaine? As in Blaine Anderson?”

 

_Good going, Hummel._

 

“Yes, Blaine Anderson – do you see my problem now?”

 

“No.”

 

Kurt just closes his mouth completely.

 

“He likes you! You like him!”

 

Finn’s hand slips from his shoulder, and Kurt turns to face his brother, eyes downward and bones trembling.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

 

Kurt almost wants to laugh at that, but he stops himself. Walks past Finn, retrieves a box of donuts.

 

“What was I supposed to say, hmm? ‘Oh, there’s this guy that I really like, but I’ve got such fucked-up priorities that I can’t interact with him for more than a minute without worrying about my reputation’?”

 

Finn pauses, sits down next to Kurt, the mattress sculpting to frame his weight.

 

“You could’ve said that, if you wanted.”

 

“No, I couldn’t.” Kurt says, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t say anything to anyone without worrying about what they’ll think, now.”

 

“You know I don’t care about what people th-”

 

“-but you did, Finn!” Kurt pushes himself from the bed, leaning himself on the wall and propping his foot against it. “I know that you’ve changed yourself so much since we moved in together, and I really can’t stress how much that meant to me, but the point still stands; you cared once! You were willing to throw me in dumpsters so you could keep your head above water!”

 

“Kurt, you know I’ll never-“

 

 “-my point is that you _did!”_

 

Kurt stops his brother up short, leaning closer.

 

“You cared. You did horrible things to keep horrible things from being done to you.”

 

“I’m not seeing where this is going.”

 

Kurt sighs.

 

“You should understand my position better than most people.”

 

Finn freezes, scooting away along the bed.

 

“Kurt, please, don’t tell me you’re actually-“

 

“I have to, Finn, okay?” Kurt’s pacing the short space between their beds, heart hammering. “Look at me; you take away the Cheerio outfit, everything else falls down. People would have zero respect for me, and you might have had to do bad things, Finn, but you weren’t half as far down the social ladder as me.”

 

“I wouldn’t let anyone-“

 

Kurt actually laughs at that, high and depreciating and horridly grim, right down to his bones.

 

“You think you can stop everyone? You can’t form a secret service around me, Finn. You can’t protect me from fists, or words.”

 

Kurt sits on his bed, head down.

 

“The only thing that can protect me is what I have now,” he says, pulling at his sheets, curving into a ball. “-and if I want to keep that, then I can’t have Blaine.”

 

*

 

“Hey!”

 

The figure turns towards the darkness, holds up the gun, and Blaine has about a second’s warning before he’s being shot at.

 

The impact of the bullet bowls him backwards – the impact is reduced, thanks to Brittany and her glorious adaption of a bulletproof vest into the costume – and his breath catches. The woman manages to push the man off and tries to back away towards the darkness, towards Blaine, but he catches her in a chokehold and brings smoking metal to temple and-

 

“You’ve got ten seconds to get out here, before I shoot this pretty ‘lil thing in‘ta tiny ‘lil pieces.”

 

Blaine steps backward, for some stupid reason, and clenches his fists.

 

_“So what, you’re just going to make me angry again?”_

 

_“No, you’re going to remember how angry you were, and you’re going to draw your power from that.”_

 

Blaine breathes in, out. Clenches tighter.

 

_“I haven’t been there.”_

 

_Sebastian pulling Kurt closer as they walk to class, tossing a sly, smug smirk over his shoulder as he meets Blaine’s eyes and-_

 

_“You’ll never be anything more than that pathetic, weak little kid who can’t stand up for himself.”_

 

Blaine can hear his blood rushing in his ears, can feel his heart galloping against his chest, feel his mouth growing dryer with every passing second.

 

_I’m warming up._

 

And so, with absolutely zero confidence, Blaine walks forward and grabs the man’s gun.

 

The metal begins to melt in his hand, small blobs of now almost-gooey silver hardening on his gloves. The man drops the woman, backs off, hands up, but Blaine can’t hear a thing but the blood whispering in his ears to _finish him off._

 

His hand reaches up by itself, constricting throat and squeezing vocal chords and – and –

 

_“Take care of yourself, honey, okay?”_

 

Blaine squeezes a final time before he lets go – just enough to make sure the man won’t follow them. He turns to the woman, intent on asking if she’s okay, but she’s backing away, pointing a finger and breathing harsh.

 

“W-who _are_ you?”

 

Blaine straightens his posture, looks as confident as possible.

 

“I’m Blazer, and-“

 

A small, screech-like sound comes from behind the dumpster, and it takes Blaine a second to realize what’s going on as Santana re-appears, snorting and clutching at her stomach.

 

“B- _Blazer_?”

 

“It’s my name!”

 

She legitimately snorts, bending over.

 

“You – looked – so – stupid, oh my god, I can’t breathe, _ha!_ ”

 

Blaine drops his gaze, drawing his feet together and looking a little smaller.

 

“You’re embarrassing me.”

 

“You’re embarrassing yourself!” She says between giggles.

 

“ _Satania_ , be nice.” Brittany says, walking out and standing behind Blaine, arms loose at her sides.

 

Santana catches a glimpse of Blaine’s face, sobers her face, and in a second she’s attending to the girl.

 

“You okay?”

 

A hum.

 

“You okay to get home alone?”

 

A nod, and she’s gone. Blaine gestures after her, a _she-just-got-mugged-and-you’re-sending-her-home-alone_ hand wave, and Santana shrugs.

 

“She’ll be okay – she only lives a few minutes away.”

 

Blaine leans against the wall, sighing.

 

“Did I do okay?” He asks, pulling off his mask and pouting for effect.

 

“You did amazingly, Blaine.” Brittany says earnestly, grinning. “Right, Santana?”

 

“Right.”

 

A pause.

 

“Seriously, though? _Blazer?”_

 

Blaine bursts into giggles, shoving his mask back on and heading out of the alleyway.

 

Little does he know, a few miles away a twenty-something journalism student is typing up her latest essay on _Life in Ohio_ and smiling a little too much to herself.

 

*

 

Finn pauses, squinting at his brother.

 

“So what, is your reputation more important than Blaine?”

 

Kurt uncurls himself a little, faces his sheets.

 

“No.”

 

It’s barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to get Finn rolling.

 

“Do you think Blaine was thinking about his reputation when he told you how he felt?” He says, standing and bringing himself over to eye level with Kurt. “Do you think Blaine would care-”

 

“-I’m not Blaine, okay?” Kurt’s chest shudders like uneven ground in an earthquake. “I’m not half as brave as he is, and I never will be-”

 

“-so you’re scared?”

 

Kurt nods. Finn pulls him into a sit-up, tugs him close to his side and lays an arm around Kurt’s shoulder.

 

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Kurt.”

 

Kurt sniffles. “And?”

 

“He’s not gonna say no.”

 

“But I already told him I’m not interested-”

 

“-and it didn’t fool anyone, especially Blaine – he still looks at you like you’re some kind of god.”

 

Kurt pushes away from his brother. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

 

Finn pauses for a second. “You’re gonna get hurt anyway, dude.” He stands, walks toward the basement door, pauses, and turns to face his brother again.

 

“You just have to figure out whether he’s worth getting hurt over. He’s hurting too, Kurt.”

 

Kurt sighs internally, lips pursed, murmurs a _thanks, Finn_ and is finally, absolutely alone.

 

_Is he worth-_

 

_Yes._

 

Rubbing at his eyes, Kurt falls back against his bedspread and turns off his lamp.

 

  _-silence and oh-god-please-be-okay, heart thumping and knuckles white and-_

 

_“You were worried…about me?”_

 

_Of course I was worried about you, you stupid, beautiful boy._

 

_Blaine’s crying and Kurt’d swear his heart was in his throat if he couldn’t feel it against his ribcage, wild and desperate and please-don’t-do-this, but he has to, he can’t let his feelings get in the way of his safety but then he can’t help but lean in, try to stave off his longing with a quick taste but it just makes everything so much **stronger** and then Blaine’s falling to the floor, and Sebastian’s behind him with a face far too evil for a person to be holding and- and-_

 

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, wetness mapping down his cheeks.

 

_You’re worth it. You’re always worth it._

 

Kurt sighs, takes a shaky breath.

 

“I love you, Blaine Anderson.”


	13. Chapter 13

“What do you _mean,_ it just disappeared?”

Sebastian runs a hand through his hair, shedding his jacket and settling on the bed.

“I swear, Father, I got there and it was gone!”

“Sebastian, I gave you that warehouse under strict instructions that it would be used for the purposes that we agreed on.” Victor Smythe looks down at his son, sighs at his feet. “I don’t know how you expect me to believe that it simply vanished into thin air-“

“-I don’t know how it happened either, okay? I locked everything up as per usual, I came home, I went to check everything again after school and-”

“-speaking of school-related things, you still haven’t told me why you _stabbed_ that boy.”

Victor glares at his son, foot tapping against wooden floor impatiently, brushing a piece of lint from his suit.

“Father, I’m sorry, I-”

-and Sebastian’s suddenly up against the wall, Victor breathing heavy down his neck, held up by his collar.

“Don’t you _sorry_ me, boy, you know what the rules of this family are! How on earth could you be so ruthless? So vile?”

Sebastian hangs his head.

“I’m sorry, sir. I won’t do it again, sir.”

Victor drops his collar, and Sebastian barely manages to catch himself as he falls to the ground, choking on air.

“You’re damn right, you won’t do it again.” His father paces away, moving his hands to empathize. “You want to stop someone, you don’t _stab_ them – you’re a Smythe, for god’s sake, Sebastian, you know how to get rid of your opponents.”

Sebastian nods.

“And how is that?”

“Without impulse, sir.”

“And how would you avoid impulsive actions?”

“By planning out and calculating for every detail, sir.”

“And which methods would you be using?”

Sebastian’s lip curls.

“Lethal injection, sir.”

Victor nods in approval. “Because…?”

“Because a Smythe never gets caught, sir.”

“Correct – and if I ever have to pay an eyewitness that much again, you won’t be a Smythe anymore.” His father is gone without another word, the heavy wooden door to Sebastian’s room closed behind him.

Sebastian sighs at his toes, walks over to his mirror, tries to find something other than resignation in his eyes. He doesn’t, so he smiles all-toothy and tries not to think too much.

_-gonna kill gonna rip out your heart you little shit gonna make you scream and whispers of voices inside the brain, blood whispering in agreement to **finish him off** and-_

Sebastian doesn’t even have to look in the mirror to know that the glint has returned; the one that makes him feel alive and dead and raw all-at-once, the one that had made Kurt’s eyes scream in panic before he’d even gotten near Blaine.

_A Smythe never gets caught._

*

“Blaine?”

Blaine perks up at the sudden voice, peering through the darkness of his bedroom.

“Who is it?” He groans, rubbing at his eyes.

“Brittany.”

Blaine sighs, reaches for the flashlight next to his bed. “You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me.”

“Sorry.”

Hand clenched around the flashlight, Blaine sits up, leans back against the headboard. The bulb suddenly clicks on; the light is weak, so almost everything in Blaine’s bedroom filters into black-and-white – the small collection of almost-wilted, yet colourful roses on his dresser turns to different shades of ashen-gray, and Brittany’s face becomes a stark moon of white pressed against the blackness behind her. She beams, tiptoes towards Blaine.

“I made cupcakes.” She says, pouncing onto the bed, hovering uncomfortably close over Blaine and bringing their noses close together. “Do you want some?”

“It’s three a.m.” Blaine says, trying not to breathe in the slightly-strawberry-scented air puffing at his nose in small bursts, pushing away on Brittany’s shoulder so he can perch on the edge of his bed (his feet don’t reach the floor) and try to shake the pins-and-needles from his toes. “ _And_ it’s a school night.”

“…Do you want any?” Brittany sits back on her heel, cocks her head to the side.

“What flavour are they?”

“I’m making cupcakes this early in the morning.” She deadpans. “They’re chocolate.”

Blaine sighs.

“God, yes.”

*

_Blaine – Blaine, what are you – put that cupcake back in your mouth this instant!_

“Oh my _god.”_ Santana says, lips smeared with melted chocolate, mouth half-open in what Blaine would assume to be shock if he hadn’t seen her eatingthe same cupcake for the last five minutes.

“Santana, are you high?”

He has to ask – as good as the cupcakes are, it’s the only reasonable explanation – and Brittany looks too scandalized for it not to be true when Santana nods, giggling and flapping her hands together in an attempt to clap. “Yeah, isn’t it great?”

“ _Santana,”_ Brittany hisses, swerving around the table to crouch beside her girlfriend, “-what made you think-”

“-we incinerated a warehouse a couple of days ago and no-one noticed, you really think I’m worried about getting caught for using drugs in _Lima?”_

“You know I don’t care about getting caught – if I cared about that, would we really be helping Blaine learn how to beat up people in public?”

Blaine goes to pitch in, not really sure whose side he’s on, but Santana cuts him off with a raised palm.

“What do you care about, then?” She asks, softly-serious, lowering her hands to her lap.

Brittany gulps, glances to the ground. “I-I don’t want anyone else that I care about losing control over their lives.”

“What do you mean? You know I don’t do this that often, it’s not like it’s an addict-“

“-that’s what my father thought too, remember? I cried about it to you every night.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with your father.” Santana scoots back on her chair, wrings her hands together. “You trust me, don’t you? You know I’m in control of this.”

“Of course I trust you – I – I just-”

“-can someone _please_ explain to me what’s going on?” Blaine finally manages to raise his voice, climbing on top of the table and scooting towards the two girls. “You’re being all cryptic and mysterious and it’s making me feel dumb, which is probably gonna lead to me being angry which is _definitely_ gonna lead to – to-” Blaine shapes an explosion with his hands. “- _boom_.” He chuckles for a loud second.

“Fire. Hot stuff.” He glances to Brittany, who won’t look up from her girlfriend’s feet. “Blazer! Ha.”

When no-one looks up, he lowers his hands and coughs awkwardly.

“Brittany?” Santana whispers.

She finally looks up from her feet, if only for a second, and pushes up to stand. Walks towards Blaine, takes his fingertips in the palm of her hand and raises them to her temple.

“What are you-” Blaine starts, but he cuts himself off with a sigh as a sharp, splinter-needled pain grows into his hand. It feels like his fingers, nail to knuckle, are being carved out into pin-shapes, burnt blue-hot, ripped away from his bone in tiny increments.

He tries to move his arm, tries to launch his whole body away, but the pain spreads to his wrists, then his elbow, then it’s spiking up the side of his neck and Blaine can’t breathe properly and-

“Stop pulling.” Brittany’s voice is sudden, tight, almost-hungrily concentrated. “It’ll hurt more.”

So Blaine lets his muscles drop as best he can, lets his eyelids droop, and the sharpness twists up past his ears and eyes and then his brain is exploding and-

-and everything stops. The pressure of the table on his back loosens, and Blaine dances the fingertips of his free hand over where the table should be. Feels nothing but air.

“Brittany,” he warns. “Where are we?”

“In my head.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

Blaine sighs.

“Brittany, you can’t be inside your own head-”

“-okay, then.” She cuts in, removing her fingers from Blaine’s temple, and he reluctantly stretches out his fingers, shivering – they feel chilled to the bone. “Where are we?”

Blaine opens his eyes, ready to answer her instantly because he knows Ohio as well as he knows his hair gel brands, and pauses.

“Brittany?” he breathes.

“Yeah?”

“You win.”

She simply nods, taking his hand and pulling him closer. Blaine stumbles forward on his feet, eyes still wandering in all directions. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

They’re not really in a _room,_ per say, but some kind of void; Blaine stands on solid ground, he knows, he can feel it under his bare feet, but there’s nothing to be seen there. He feels like he should be falling, can practically feel the air being whipped from his lungs by the plummet.

Blaine pauses. “So we’re really in-”

“Not exactly.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow.

“We’re not _here_ here; physically, we’re still in your kitchen, but mentally,” she gestures at her head, “-we’re in here.”

“So…my head…is in your head?” He says slowly.

Brittany nods.

Blaine breathes out a _whoa,_ turns semi-frantically on the spot.

“How are we-” he begins to ask, but then he’s falling, wind whipping around his face and arms and legs and he can’t breathe properly and-

-and he’s crashing, ground slamming into his face and it’s about as comfortable as being buried in brick wall and the shock of the fall slaps through his body like a wave in high tide.

“Are you okay?” Brittany’s at his shoulder, tapping and whispering cautiously, cursing under her breath.

Blaine whimpers.

“Shit, can you get up? I’m so sorry, Blaine, I didn’t mean to do that-”

“-wait, so that was _on purpose_?” Blaine manages to wheeze out, trying to prop himself up on one arm.

“I didn’t mean to, okay? You were wondering why we weren’t falling and my concentration slipped. Do you think you broke anything?”

“No, just my brain.” He hisses, half-glaring at Brittany. “Why are we here, anyway?”

“You wanted someone to explain what was going on before, right?” Blaine nods. “Well, it’s a little hard to explain with words, so I figured I could just show you.”

She snaps her fingers, and an ocean of pictures drops down from the invisible ceiling, puppet-strings glowing whiter as they get closer to Blaine. Brittany tugs him over to one, raises her palm and gently presses against the side of the frame. Blaine feels a chill ripple through him, and he isn’t surrounded by black anymore; he’s at McKinley High, crowded underneath a bleacher.

_Memories._

“This is just an example,” Brittany explains. “It’s the day Kitty Wilde broke her spinal cord, so everyone remembers it; Coach made us practise on mattresses for the next month.”

“Why do I need an example?”

“So you know what to do in a memory.”

They hear footsteps, and Brittany tugs him by the sleeve of his shirt further underneath the bleachers.

“Rule number one – whatever you do, don’t let your past-self see you. It’s basically the same rules as clichéd time travel, except if you screw up the continuum, we can’t get out of the memory and no-one else can get in.”

Blaine sucks in a breath. “So, who’s allowed to see us?”

“Anyone who won’t be able to put it together that there’s two of us in the same place at the same time.”

Blaine nods.

“Rule number two – the memory pretty much self-destructs once it’s finished, so don’t get in its way-”

“-get in its way?”

“If it looks like it’s going to burn itself up, get underwater. If things start getting windy, find something to hold on to. If everything looks a bit too bright to be natural-”

“-close my eyes?” Blaine remarks jokingly.

Brittany grins. “As long as it works in real life, then it’ll work here; just like surviving a natural disaster-”

“-only it’s trying to kill us?”

“Oh, shush. Rule number three – this is more a piece of advice than a rule – you can only use memories to see things. You can’t manipulate what’s already happened. It’s like playing a video game; you can interact with certain things, but in the end, everything really has to go the same way it always has.”

“So…?”

“So don’t try to, okay? Don’t get too attached to something that can’t be changed.”

“Okay.”

She stares. “I mean it, Blaine.”

Blaine perks up a little more at that, raises his eyebrows. “So do I.”

Brittany holds his stare for a moment longer, looks down. Nods over at the football field. “We’ve got about a minute left in here – memories only last so long.”

Blaine leans on the railing underneath the bleachers, hands dangling like abandoned puppets. “How do you know about this one? Have you been in here before?”

She hums in acknowledgement. “Kitty’s going to start screaming in about twenty seconds, Coach is going to notice in about thirty, and then there’s always thirty seconds at the end of each memory where nothing significant really happens. It’s only there to make sure the memory doesn’t cut off halfway through.”

Blaine looks over at her, something like pride bursting in his chest. “You know a lot about this stuff, don’t you?”

She blushes, looks down. “It’s kind of my thing.”

Blaine’s about to tell her that it’s _definitely_ her thing when a shrill, high-pitched shriek echoes past them. Brittany grabs his hand, drags him further into the shadows.

“This is it.”


	15. Chapter 15

 

The bleacher above them echoes with hurried footsteps, chattering voices filled with hints of curiosity whispering down at Blaine, and he can feel himself start to tremble.

 

_I could die here._

 

“ _Could_ is the magic word here.” Brittany squeezes his hand.

 

“That’s reassuring.” Blaine mutters, not moving his gaze from the frantically-moving group of cheerleaders in the field beyond. Brittany points at a bucket of water, tugging Blaine’s hand along with hers. “Is it just me, or…?”

 

Blaine glances at it, and a frenzy of panic shoots through his veins when he sees the water rippling slightly. “It’s shaking.” He says, palms suddenly growing sweaty. “So that means…?”

 

“I’m guessing earthquake, but you can never be-” Brittany’s reply is cut off as the ground noticeably begins to shudder frantically below them, the curious whispers above them growing louder, footsteps fleeting down the staircase towards Coach Sue’s slightly-animalistic roars.

 

 “Wait, aren’t they-”

 

Brittany squeezes his hand. “I told you – we can only use memories to see things. We can’t change what’s already happened, and we can’t interfere with too many people.”

 

“So-”

 

“-it’s going to be the same as if a real earthquake were happening-“

 

“-but we’re the only ones who can get out, so they’re all gonna die?”

 

“Only people who would die in a real earthquake.”

 

“So some of them are gonna die.” Blaine breathes out, shakes his hand from Brittany’s grasp.

 

“They’re not real.”

 

“But-“

 

“This is what I meant, Blaine – this is an illusion for everyone but us, because everyone but us isn’t real!”

 

Brittany clutches at his elbow, drags him out of the bleachers as the ground starts to shake a little more heavily. “We have to move.”

 

Blaine lets his feet stutter through the dirt as he runs, and Brittany suddenly seems a lot lighter on her feet than he feels. She pulls him through nooks and around corners as the world crashes around them, away from prying eyes and crumbling buildings until they reach the football field again.

 

“Wait, won’t the ground crack open or something?” Blaine shouts over the distant rumble. He can practically feel her eyes rolling at him.

 

“That’s a myth!”

 

“Why – what – why are we here?”

 

“Don’t look back.” She says, tugging him to the centre of the field.

 

“Why-“ Blaine starts, and for some stupid reason, he turns around.

 

The bleachers have crumpled underneath pieces of fallen building, trapping a few unconscious Cheerios from the waist downwards in a sandwich of cheap metal and brick. He can see blood on a few people, another few limping, none recognizable enough so that he can put a name to a face.

 

Brittany finally stops, lets go of his arm, takes his hand.

 

_They’re not real._

 

“It’s almost over.”

 

And almost as soon as she says it, the distant rumble ceases, and Blaine’s blinking to make sure he’s not seeing things and there is McKinley High standing before him, nothing but a few piles of glorified rubble.

 

Blaine clears his throat. “It’s an improvement.”

 

Brittany snorts, and the next second he blinks open his eyes he’s staring into the spaceless black void again.

 

“Wow?” She asks, shaking out her hand and cracking her knuckles.

 

Blaine can’t really do anything but part his mouth a little.

 

“Wow.”

 

Brittany steps forward, to a frame with a darker picture, and Blaine grabs her hand just before she touches it.

 

“So if that was an example…?” He prompts, dragging her fingertips away from the edge of the frame.

 

“This is gonna be worse.” She confirms, still not moving her gaze from the shadowed room within the picture.

 

“Do we have to?”

 

Brittany freezes, spins around to face him. “What?”

 

Blaine’s small smile fades a little, and he brings his free hand up to try and help elaborate. “It’s just that – well, that was pretty tough by itself, and we _are_ still in our pyjamas, so…”

 

“Ah.” Brittany doesn’t respond further than that.

 

“I could if you wanted to, I guess-”

 

“-tell me, Blaine, do you think I want to?”

 

Blaine splutters for a second. “Mayb-”

 

“-of course I don’t fucking want to!” She wrenches his hand away from hers, taking a sudden step back. “You don’t think I’mexhausted? You don’t think that I’m sick of running around in my own head? I-” she stops, stares at her feet for a second that’s far too long for Blaine’s liking. Sighs. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, no, it’s okay.” Blaine pauses. “We don’t have to do anything.”

 

“But you still want to know why I’m all defensive on drugs, right?”

 

“You could just tell me instead.” Blaine deadpans. “That _example_ wasn’t exactly the greatest wake-up call. Especially at four a.m.” He nudges her shoulder. “You can trust me – I _am_ your friendly neighbourhood superhero, after all.”

 

“I know I can, I just – I’ve only ever told Santana, and I don’t even know if she remembers the whole thing because she was drunk.”

 

Blaine pauses. “You know, Brittany, you’re not the only one who hates to see people getting hurt.”

 

Brittany scoffs, smiles a little. “When I was about eight, my parents had their picket-fence fantasy well on its way to being reality; my father was the main breadwinner, being one of the most well-respected lawyers in our town, and my mother was to stay at home to complete tax returns and clean and raise me into a proper little lady.”

 

Blaine nods at her to continue.

 

“Daddy was staying late in at the office most nights, and Mum starts getting a little _suspicious_ so she packs one of those picnic lunches, basket and all, walks into his office to surprise him and-”

 

“-let me guess – there was a pretty little blonde bent over the desk, horizontal folk-dancing with Daddy.”

 

“A pretty little blonde named Eli Collins.”

 

Blaine raises an eyebrow. “I don’t even know if I could keep it up for someone named _Eli.”_

 

Brittany snorts, and her shoulders begin to relax. “Anyhow, after all the _horizontal folk dancing,_ ” Blaine snorts, “my parents slowly began to drift apart. My dad took up coke, and a little while after that mum divorced him.” She pauses, and Blaine squeezes her hand. “He controlled his usage just fine, but he got in trouble with one of his dealers. The law firm found out and fired him, and then he _definitely_ couldn’t pay his dues and long story short, he was found in a gutter ten days later.”

 

Blaine breathes out slowly, in slowly, out slowly. “Can I-“

 

“-yeah.”

 

He opens his arms, and she steps forward.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

He can feel wetness seeping through the thin cotton of his pyjama shirt.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

They separate, and Blaine wipes a little at his own eyes.

 

“Should we go?” Blaine asks, stumbling for unemotional ground.

 

Brittany nods. Hums in agreement.

 

“…How do we…go, exactly?”

 

“We click our fabulous ruby-red heels together three times and sing ‘there’s no place like home’ in perfect pitch.” She deadpans.

 

Blaine chuckles for a loud second. Brittany doesn’t respond.

 

“Do we actually do that?”

 

“No.”

 

_Thank god._

 

“All you have to do,” she says simply, placing her fingers at his temple, “is exactly what you did to get in here.”

 

“Which is?” Blaine says obliviously.

 

Brittany smiles. “Don’t move.”

 

Pins-and-needles flood into his head and makes him woozy, into his eyes, his neck, shoulders, arms, fingertips and he blinks and-

 

-and the kitchen’s back. The pressure of the table on his back is there again and it feels like he’s been sitting there for _years_ because he’s pretty sure there’s a table-shaped groove in his ass now and-

 

“Took you long enough.” Santana’s voice is croaky, hoarse. She sniffles.

 

“Yeah, well, we had a lot to discuss.” Brittany replies, not looking at her girlfriend.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I know.”

 

There’s a quiet, not-awkward moment before Blaine comes to his senses, stretching his mouth in an obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching his arms above his head.

 

“As _totally awesome_ as those cupcakes were,” he says, standing and heading for his staircase, “I should really get some sleep for school tomorrow.”

 

“Blaine, wait.” It’s Santana, crossing over to him in quick strides.

 

“Yeah?” He says, blinking his eyes. He wasn’t lying; he really needs to sleep.

 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” She says in a hushed whisper, glancing back to Brittany.

 

“What for?”

 

“For whatever you did in there.” She says softly, meeting his gaze with grateful eyes. “Because it worked. So thank you, and goodnight,” she steels her face, “Blazer.”

 

He smiles at her, tips an imaginary hat that gets a smile back and heads up to his room.

 

Blaine’s got the covers back, one foot underneath his sheets when the idea occurs to him. He moves to stand in front of his mirror, takes one look at himself – tousled, un-gelled hair, half-wet, dirty pajamas – and closes his eyes. Breathes deep. Opens.

 

_You can do this._

 

“I love you, Kurt Hummel.”

 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever said


	16. Chapter 16

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Santana asks, as discreetly as she can from her locker across the hall. The corridor’s mostly cleared, but it won’t be for long; second period bell is about to ring.

 

“As I’ll ever be.”

 

Blaine hates the fact that he had to miss French with Kurt to do this, but he knows it’s an essential test.

 

“Remember; lock down your muscles as much as you can-“

 

“-get hot and bothered, but not angry.” Blaine winks cheesily, makes a gun with his hand and shoots at her. She flutters her hand over her chest, mimicking being shot in the heart.

 

“You did your homework.”

 

“You nagged it into me.”

 

She giggles, retrieving the last of her books and shutting her locker with a firm _thud_ of finality.

 

“Good luck, Blaine.” She says sincerely, skittering off to wait at her second classroom. Blaine hums an affirmation to himself, leans back against his locker, whistles. Waits.

 

The moment where the shrill bell finally tunnels through the hallway seems to drag on forever, and then he’s off. Students flood the corridor – he’s briefly reminded of a stampede – as his eyes scan over each of their faces – _no, no, no, yes._

 

“Hey, Karofsky!”

 

*

 

“You should be in class.”

 

Kurt glances up from tracing imaginary circles on the cafeteria table, lets his eyes dance across the room until they reach the door. He scoffs, looks away.

 

“So should you.”

 

Sebastian shrugs, steps a little further towards Kurt. They’re both alone in the cafeteria; Kurt swears he can feel his heartbeat echoing through the empty air.

 

“What do you want, Sebastian?”

 

A moment passes.

 

“I want to apologize.”

 

Kurt sucks in a silent breath, eyes widening. “And why on earth,” he asks slowly, carefully. “would you want to do that?”

 

 He can feel Sebastian’s eyes on him, hear his footsteps growing closer and closer.

 

“Because,” and he can hear the preparation behind each word – Sebastian’s sat down, he’s thought about this, he’s practised what he’s about to say. “As much as you might not want to believe it now, I _am_ trying to be a decent person.”

 

Kurt finally wills himself to turn around. Sebastian’s standing there, arms hung loose by his sides, eyes bloodshot and dark-circled; he doesn’t look like he’s slept in days. Kurt steels himself.

 

“You look a mess, Seb.” He tries, half-heartedly laughing. “What’ve you been doing, marathoning _Sex and the City_ all week?”

 

All Sebastian does is stare at him, and Kurt can’t tell whether he’s crying or it’s just his eyes’ bloodshot state.

 

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

 

*

 

Blaine steels himself as the boy – well, he’s not really a boy, he’s more like a U-Haul, to be honest – turns towards him, carrying that self-satisfied smile that Blaine’s far too used to.

 

“What’s up, _loser?”_

 

Blaine scoffs, slowing his footsteps until he comes to a halt a few inches from Karofsky’s face.

 

“Oh, just wondering how long it’s gonna take your mom to recover from last night.” Blaine sneers, before he can stop himself.

 

_I know Santana told you to get creative, but seriously?_

 

“You’re gonna want to watch your mouth, Anderson.” Karofsky huffs, and Blaine can feel his skin start to heat up. He breathes carefully through his nose, glances at his shoes for a moment, clenches his fists. “And why on earth would I listen to you?”

 

Karofsky lets out a sound almost like a growl, and swings wildly at Blaine’s face.

 

*

 

Kurt gulps.

 

“Oh.”

 

_…Are you seriously going to leave it there?_

 

Sebastian’s still moving towards him, and for some strange reason, Kurt isn’t moving away.

 

“…Anything in particular about me?” Kurt says, trying to relax his tense shoulders.

 

Sebastian audibly gulps. “What I did at the party, and the phone thing, and-”

 

“-you know, Sebastian, I certainly hope you’d be thinking about what you did at the party because you almost fucking _killed_ someone.” Kurt snaps, all in one breath, rushing towards Sebastian so that they’re a few inches apart.

 

“I was drun-“

 

“-are you _seriously_ making excuses right now?”

 

Sebastian sighs, holds out his arms in surrender, eyes visibly watering. “I – I just – I’m so fucking _sorry_ , Kurt.”

 

“That’s nice.”

 

Sebastian sniffs a little. “Were you serious, before?” He says nasally.

 

“About what?”

 

“When you said we were through.”

 

Kurt pauses. “Yeah.”

 

A moment passes.

 

“I still love you.”

 

The simple statement catches Kurt off guard, and he feels like he’s been winded, like he’s falling but he can’t see when or where he’s going to land, so he just lets himself fall.

 

“I love you too.”

 

*

 

Blaine’s face hits the cheap lino, and he can feel bruises forming on his ribcage – surprisingly, the only place where Karofsky managed to hit him before.

 

_Remember, don’t fight back – one punch, and you’ll get suspended._

 

Blaine grudgingly pulls himself back up, turns to face Karofsky again, dodges his right hook – the guy’s a tough fighter and he has a reputation for a reason but, you know, Blaine has superpowers. He wants to dodge every punch, but that option was quickly cancelled out by Santana’s default _it’ll look suspicious,_ so all Blaine can do is fall and run.

 

He finally manages to manoeuvre his way to a few metres from the teacher’s lounge, and sure enough, Karofsky stops.

 

“Your call.” Blaine huffs out, breathing slightly erratic.

 

Karofsky pauses, hold up his arms, and finally walks away aggressively. Blaine waits until he’s around the corner before he lets himself lean forward, clutches at his ribcage. Santana is with him in an instant.

 

“Are you okay?” She says, hands spluttering over his back in an attempt to somehow fix it.

 

Blaine coughs a little, tries to straighten up, winces. “I’ll get there.”

 

“You should go get something to eat. I’ll tell Belaney that you’re sick, okay?”

 

Blaine smiles. “Thanks, Santana.”

 

*

 

“What?”

 

Kurt looks him in the eye, tries to breathe steadily. “I love you, but I can’t do this anymore.”

 

Sebastian reaches for his shoulder, and Kurt jerks it away. “I can’t be with someone that I don’t trust.”

 

“Learn to trust me again, then. Please, Kurt, I –“

 

“What? You think you can waltz in here and have _love_ fix all your problems? You think I’m just going to push away the fact that you almost killed Blaine-“

 

“- _what_ is so fucking great about Blaine, may I ask? Why are you constantly defending him?”

 

“Because he’s been dropped at the bottom of the heap by this stupid social hierarchy and I remember what it was like!”

 

“You don’t needto waste your time on _him_ , okay? I want to try again with us so, so badly and I swear if you give me one more chance-“

 

Kurt scowls, lowers his voice. “So what, you’ve got a right to a second chance but he isn’t worth a second of my time?”

 

“I _love_ you, Kurt-“

 

“- _how_ do you think that’s going to change my mind now? I told you, we’re done, and that is the fucking end of the line!”

 

“You can’t just give up on a person like that, Kurt, you can’t fucking cut off your emotions until they disappear-“

 

“-why not, huh? What would you know about _emotions_?”

 

Sebastian slides shaky hands to Kurt’s shoulders, and he barely notices through how hard he’s crying.

 

“Because I’ve already tried.”

 

And then they’re kissing and Kurt just wants to melt into his arms and forget about bad and good and right and wrong and-

 

_“I don’t need anyone to hate me more than they already do.”_

 

Kurt freezes, pushes at Sebastian’s shoulders until he finally lets go.

 

“Tell me you didn’t feel anything.”

 

Kurt picks up his satchel, pushes past Sebastian. Pauses at the door. Closes his eyes, tries not to cry.

 

“I can’t.”

 

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

 

Kurt doesn’t answer, doesn’t leave. He can hear Sebastian sniffling behind him.

 

“Do you love him?” He asks, and it’s the softest Kurt’s ever heard him speak.

 

“Yes.” Kurt answers, barely a whisper. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

“Kurt?”

 

*

 

“I _love_ you, Kurt-“

 

“- _how_ do you think that’s going to change my mind now? I told you, we’re done, and that is the fucking end of the line!”

 

_Kurt._

 

“You can’t just give up on a person like that, Kurt, you can’t fucking cut off your emotions until they disappear-“

 

“-why not, huh? What would you know about _emotions_?”

 

Blaine’s walking faster than he’s ever walked before and why won’t his stupid legs work, if Kurt’s hurt by that fucking psycho because Blaine was too slow-

 

“Tell me you didn’t feel anything.”

 

Blaine stops just outside the cafeteria door, freezes as it opens and Kurt stops, eyes closed and crying.

 

“I can’t.”

 

_I love you._

 

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

 

Kurt doesn’t answer, doesn’t leave, doesn’t move. Sebastian spots Blaine, tries to steel his face, looks Blaine in the eye.

 

“Do you love him?”

 

Blaine can’t fathom how he could explain how much he loves Kurt Hummel, and he opens his mouth and takes a breath and prepares to spill his heart to it’s owner but Kurt beats him to it.

 

“Yes.”

 

_Wait, what?_

 

Blaine sees Kurt shudder with a breath, trembling lips slightly parted, and he couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

 

“Kurt?” he says, voice cracking.

 

Kurt’s eyes flash open before him, and his heart breaks at how sad he looks.

 

“Blaine?”

 

Blaine glances into the cafeteria, but Sebastian’s gone. He pushes gently on Kurt’s shoulder until they’re each sitting at a table, chairs facing one another, Kurt’s head resting carefully in the crook of Blaine’s neck.

 

“Hi.” Blaine says softly, reaching up to caress the side of Kurt’s head.

 

Kurt laughs, warm breath dancing onto the skin of Blaine’s neck, and Blaine feels his heart swell.

 

“Hi.” Kurt hiccups, and Blaine tugs him closer.

 

A moment passes.

 

“I’m tired of pretending, Blaine. I’m tired of hurting other people and feeling like a horrible person,” he sniffs. “but most of all, I’m tired of hurting you.”

 

Blaine takes a breath through his nose, tries not to cry too hard.

 

“I love you.” Blaine sobs out, finally letting his arms go slack.

 

_Please. Tell me I’m not imagining things._

 

Kurt freezes, scrambles for his hand, raises his head, looks Blaine in the eye.

 

“I love you too.”

 

It’s simple and it’s unbelievable and it’s utterly _perfect_.

 

“I think I’ve loved you since the day we met.” Kurt says quietly, and Blaine can’t help himself, fitting his palm into the curve of Kurt’s jaw and bringing those slightly parted lips closer and closer and – _oh, god, I could die happy here._

 

They break apart – after what, a minute, a month, a thousand years? Why does it matter? – chests heaving, skin sweaty, hearts filled to the brim.

 

“So, could we get coffee sometime?”

 

_Great way to ruin the moment, Blaine._

 

Kurt laughs a little, clutches Blaine’s hand tighter.

 

“Yes,” he says, in-between kisses. “We can get coffee,” _kiss_ “or tea,” _kiss_ “or bagels, or anything you want, anywhere you want-”

 

“-can we fly to Canada? I heard they have this _bagged_ _milk_ , it sounds _quite_ versatile-”

 

-and Kurt’s kissing him again and he’s not stopping, letting go of his hand and clutching his face with both palms, smiling into his lips.

 

“I love you, Blaine Anderson.”

 

_Easy as breathing._


	17. Chapter 17

Blaine hugs his forearms around Kurt’s shoulders, tugs him impossibly closer.

 

_This is perfect._

 

They break apart, but Blaine can’t stop himself from darting back in for little kisses here and there as Kurt’s breathing manages to even out.

 

“What is this?” Kurt asks, sliding his arms down to hang limp from his sides, filling from fingertips to lips with sensation from wherever he’d touched Blaine.

 

“What’s what?” Blaine half-echoes, lazily tracing the sharp cut of Kurt’s face in the bright sunlight with his eyes.

 

“What’s this, here, now.” Kurt gestures between them. “What are _we_?”

 

“We can be whatever you want,” Blaine answers, sounding far too desperate for Kurt’s liking. “We don’t even have to talk during school, you don’t even have to _look_ at me-”

 

“-why not?”

 

Blaine sighs. “Because of my reputation.”

 

Kurt’s smile falters, his breath catching a little at Blaine’s words. “What do you mean?” He half-laughs.

 

“Please don’t try to brush this off, Kurt – you know how practically everyone sees me, and compared with how everyone sees you-“Blaine cuts himself off before he can think about it too much.

 

“No.”

 

Blaine perks up. “What?”

 

Kurt’s shaking his head almost-furiously. “I can’t do that to you, Blaine – it already hurt too much the first time, and it’s beyond unfair on you.”

 

“I can take it-“

 

“Why would you?” Kurt sounds almost incredulous.

 

Blaine pauses. “You’re worth it.” He looks Kurt in the eye, squeezes his shoulder gently. “I feel like I could wait for you forever.”

 

“No, Blaine; if I can’t be proud of you in front of other people, you shouldn’t spare me a second. I’m not worth it.”

 

Blaine scoffs, and Kurt’s eyes start to water again. “Are you kidding? You’re perfect.” He says quietly, softly, stretching for Kurt’s hand with his spare one, still looking him in the eye. “Did you know I almost got detention on our first day because I couldn’t stop staring at you, Kurt Hummel?”

 

Kurt smiles tightly, eyes spilling over. “I’m far from perfect.” He sniffs.

 

“Well, you’re as close as I’m ever gonna get.”

 

Kurt lets out a sob, shoulders jerking with the force of it, and Blaine squeezes his hand tighter.

 

“Y-you’re perfect, too, you know.” Kurt manages, all nasal and high.

 

“Well, I try.” Blaine jokes sombrely, cracking a small smile. He pauses. “Are you...scared, Kurt?”

 

“Terrified.”

 

“What of?”

 

Kurt splutters his sentences, trying to come up with something that won’t contradict what he _needs_ Blaine to know so, so badly-

 

“I can hear you thinking, Kurt.” He says, holding up a finger to his trembling lips. “Try to calm down.”

 

Kurt’s breathing starts up half-normal, and Blaine tries again.

 

“Are you scared of what might happen if you’re with me…publicly?” Blaine asks quietly, voice thick with emotion. “Because I said, we can be whatever you want, Kurt, I promise-“

 

“That’s not it.” Kurt interrupts, loosening his hand on Blaine’s. “That’s not it at all.”

 

“What is it, then?” Blaine asks, trying not to speak to quickly, too desperate.

 

_You have to give him time. Space. Anything he wants._

 

“I’m scared of what’ll happen, sure, but…that’s only because last time I was at the bottom of the pit,” he hesitates, “I-I was alone.”

 

Kurt takes a deep breath, and Blaine’s heart _must_ be trying to kill him at this point.

 

“B-but if I go back now – if I stop pretending…I’ll have you, won’t I?”

 

Blaine nods so fast he thinks he might have put a kink in his neck.

 

“Then I have nothing to be scared of.”

 

*

 

Blaine sucks in a breath.

 

_He trusts you._

 

“Whatever you choose, I’ll be here for you, I promise.”

 

“I’ve already decided – I want you. I want all of you, and I want everyone to know it.” Kurt looks a little dazed from how fast he’s speaking.

 

_He wants to be with you._

 

Kurt’s looking down at their joined hands, a soft, serene, teary smile on his lips. Blaine’s heart pangs.

 

_He **loves** you._

 

“Your hand is _really_ warm, Blaine, are you okay?”

 

_Shit._

 

He wrenches his hand out of Kurt’s grasp quickly, nods awkwardly while shaking it. “Yeah, I’ve – um – just been – I – a little feverish, lately?” His voice spirals upward at the end.

 

Kurt pauses, eyes suspicious. A long moment passes.

 

“Okay.”

 

*

 

“Brittany, no – don’t-“

 

“-I have to wolf-whistle or something, come on, look at them, they’re so-“

 

“-cute, they’re cute, I get it, but you can’t barge in there now! Can’t you see how vulnerable this situation is?”

 

Brittany sighs, not moving her gaze from the inside of the cafeteria, where Blaine and Kurt are conversing silently, both teary-eyed. “I sure can.”

 

A moment passes.

 

“They look like us – minus the dicks, of course-“

 

Brittany snorts, twirls around to face her girlfriend. “You sure about that?”

 

Santana grins, pressing a finger to her chin and looking skyward in mock confusion. “About you having…a _dick_?” She whispers scandalously.

 

Brittany nods, bites Santana’s finger gently. “I’m not sure.” She gently strokes Santana’s shoulder, cocking her head to the side. “Maybe you should… _help_ me figure that out.”

 

Santana visibly shivers. “I hate you.”

 

Brittany giggles. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

 

Santana glances around, pulls her in for a quick kiss, just a peck. Nothing too risky.

 

“It’s a definite yes.” She says, eyes alight with something dark, pulling Brittany as quickly as she can towards her car.

 

*

 

“So, are we really gonna do this?” Blaine gulps, veering as far away from the previous subject as possible; this one doesn’t make him feel any lighter, though. “Be together? Public?”

 

“If you’ll take me.” Kurt smiles, and Blaine can’t help but brush his fingertips along the dimple at the corner of his mouth.

 

“I love you, Kurt.” Blaine says, and Kurt lets out a little gasp of breath and it rushes past Blaine’s fingers and _god,_ how can such a simple sensation have sparks flying from head to toe?

 

“I love you too.”

 

*

 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

 

Kurt blinks back at Blaine, hand trembling in his.

 

“As I’ll ever be.”

 

Blaine gives his hand a final squeeze of encouragement, lets go. Tries to whisper _good luck, courage, I love you_ with his eyes alone.

 

“Hummel!”

 

Kurt’s head snaps up, eyes wide, to see Santana holding a blue slushy cup and trying to say _please don’t punch me in the face_ with her eyes alone. He gulps, and Blaine adds yet another reason to his reasons to love Kurt Hummel – his acting skills.

 

“What do you want, Lopez?” He practically squeaks, and if Blaine, Santana and Kurt hadn’t sat down yesterday and rehearsed everything to a tee, he would grab Kurt by the collar and wrench him into his arms and hide him from the world and-

 

“Just wanted to know if the rumours are true.” She says, a little breathless, and Blaine secretly wishes she was a little better at controlling her emotions around people she cared about.

 

“What rumours?”

 

“That you and Loser McGel over there are fuck-buddies.”

 

Kurt lets his eyes skitter over the hallway – people are starting to notice, they’re tapping on their friends shoulders, point towards the two of them, and he’s so damn scared he wishes he could turn invisible on the spot but he _can’t stop now._

 

“Why’s that any of your business?”

 

“Because if it’s true, then we have a little order to restore.” She gestures to the slushy, and Blaine has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the amount of people who gasp as they finally catch up. “By order, I mean-“

 

“-you’re gonna slushy me.” Kurt interrupts, crossing his arms tightly, and he just sounds so damn _scared-_

 

“Correct.” Santana brings her feet together, holds the slushy cup in both hands. People are starting to gather behind her now, letterman jackets beaming out like warning signals to Kurt. He sighs dramatically.

 

_Don’t stop me now, boys._

 

“You know what, Santana? Fuck you. Fuck the Cheerios, and fuck your hierarchy, and fuck whatever you think you’ve got against me because you know what? I’ve got _Blaine_ , and he is brave and honest and everything you’re not, Lopez.” Kurt’s speaking so fast he’s practically _spitting,_ each word trembling harshly. “I have him, and he’s not going anywhere.”

 

Kurt reaches back a hand, and Blaine doesn’t wait a second before he grabs it so Kurt can tug him forward. Kurt glances down at him for a second, eyes vulnerable, and Blaine thinks he may be cutting off the circulation but he can’t bring himself to care because he’s just so _proud_ of his boyfriend. _Boyfriend._

 

“I’ve got him,” and the words are growing solid, whole, and Blaine just wants to cry at how _perfect_ his Kurt is. “-so do your worst.”

 

A moment passes, and Santana gulps quickly.

 

_I wish I could be as brave as you._

 

“I’m sorry.” Is all she can manage before he launches the slushy at his face and turns away down the hall, keeping her features as still as possible.

 

_Don’t cry. Not here._

 

_*_

 

The mutterings turn to whispers, and by lunch have grown to full-blown rumours that the catfight of the century had left Kurt Hummel and Santana Lopez with three-week suspensions. Kurt actually laughs out loud when they reach their table in the cafeteria, nudging Blaine’s shoulder and nodding towards the Cheerio table.

 

“Too bad they didn’t make up something about you having superpowers or something, huh?”

 

Blaine chuckles along, tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

_“Congratulations, Anderson, you’re a freak of nature.”_

 

_You have everything you’ve ever wanted._

 

“Blaine?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You with me?”

 

Blaine blinks slowly, realizes he’s standing at the foot of their table and he can’t remember sitting down and he should probably do that now.

 

“So.”

 

“Are you gonna quit the Cheerios?”

 

 “Not if they don’t make me.” Kurt shrugs, popping a grape into his mouth. “As cliché as it is, cheerleading is my passion – well, it’s the only one that I could find that was popular enough, and it grew on me.”

 

Blaine nods. “So you’re not looking for any new _passions?”_

 

Kurt giggles, and Blaine’s heart swells. “Depends on what those _passions_ are.”

 

“Can I be your passion?”

 

“Any day of the week.”

 

Blaine smiles, and Kurt smiles, and they lean in a little closer and-

 

“Get a room, freaks!”

 

Blaine pauses for a second, trying to gauge Kurt’s reaction. He’s still for a second, but then he looks at Blaine again, and bends his to give him a quick _peck_ on the cheek.

 

“Love you.”

 

*

 

“Love you.”

 

_Maybe you should try to let him go._

 

**Nope. He’s yours. Why are you letting that _nothing_ take him from you?**

 

Sebastian sighs, rubs his face with his hands. He’s been so tired lately – coincidentally, he’s been wanting Kurt back more too.

 

_That Brittany girl down at the bakery seemed nice – maybe you should go see about that position they were advertising._

 

**Are you fucking kidding? Your father’s already pissed enough at you for being a fag, don’t even _start_ thinking about working in a bakery.**

 

Sebastian gets up from his table, tries to exit the cafeteria without thinking too much.

 

_Please, just leave him alone. It’s best for both of you._

 

**Have you seen yourself lately, Smythe? This isn’t good for you, it can’t be.**

 

**_If you don’t stop soon, you’re gonna get caught up in a storm of bad._ **


	18. Chapter 18

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine moans, eyes growing wide, sensation filling through his veins. “I – I”

 

“Shh,” Kurt mutters, sweating a little from the effort of his movements. “It’s okay, baby, just enjoy.” 

 

“I knew you were coming first in Cooking for a reason, but oh my _god.”_

 

Kurt giggles, sweeping a stray strand of hair behind his ear as he continues to mix a fresh batch of batter. “I just had a couple of recipes that I hadn’t tried yet; I should really be thanking _you_ for letting me try them out.”

 

“Oh, really,” Blaine says, half-muffled around a freshly baked muffin, glancing up at Kurt. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

 

It’s only been a week since they started dating – not even that, really, since _dating_ started Monday afternoon, and it’s Friday now – and Blaine is happy to say that Kurt is one of the biggest people in his life right now. Not that he wasn’t before, but Blaine is actually certified to think about him that much more now – he can wake up in the morning and drink his coffee and get to school and meet up with Kurtat his locker and Kurt can straighten his collar and Blaine can think about kissing him and if he does then all he has to worry about is Kurt complaining about his coffee-breath.

 

And it’s _perfect._

 

_*_

 

_“Father, I don’t know what you expect me to-“_

 

_“-I don’t **expect** you to do anything anymore, Sebastian.” _

 

His father’s voice was harsh, cold, final.

 

_“I’ve given you countless chances, and I simply cannot tolerate you disappointing this family any further.”_

 

_Sebastian gulps, hands twitching and clenching behind his back. **Don’t react; it’ll make him worse.**_

 

_“I want you out of the house by Friday.”_

 

_Sebastian snaps his neck up, gasping, trying to process what his father has just said. “Father, you can’t really-“_

 

_“-if you’re not gone by five o’clock, you’ll have the security on your back.”_

 

_“I’m your son!” he cries, nails digging into his palms. “I’ve made a few mistakes, sure, but you’re supposed to-“_

 

_“-I’m not obligated to do anything for you, Sebastian. You have until the end of the week. My word is final.”_

 

_The door slams shut behind his father, enclosing the room in shadow._

 

Sebastian stops for a moment, leaning back against the wall outside his house. His old house.

 

_Until the end of the week._

 

_Five days._

 

It was Friday, and he had nowhere to go.

 

*

 

A gunshot echoes through the aisle, and Blaine groans.

 

“Do I have to?” he mutters to Santana.

 

She simply glares at him, subtly nods her head towards the front of the supermarket – a handful of men with beanies pulled over their faces are waving guns around like flyers, and one has a cashier in a chokehold.

 

He doesn’t move.

 

“ _Blazer,”_ she warns, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “Someone could _die.”_

 

A moment passes.

 

“It’s your civil _duty.”_

 

“I have to say,” he says, turning towards the men, sliding on his mask from inside his shirt, “I _did_ _not_ see the guilt trip coming.”

 

“A-bup-bup!” she interrupts, stepping in front of him before he can draw attention to himself.

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I can see you.”

 

Blaine blinks. “Oh. Sorry.”

 

He and Brittany had been practising this for weeks; after many failed attempts at turning him invisible manually, (especially that one time Brittany took him on PornHub and that guy and three hands and _oh my god don’t even go there_ ) Blaine had finally figured it out; it wasn’t quite as intense as _summoning fire,_ but it was still relatively hard.

 

_You don’t have hands. You don’t have a face. You don’t have-_ and he can feel his body ticking away like when he first went into Brittany’s brain, pins-and-needles splintering through his hands and yeah it feels beyond weird when your body is numb but _he’s fucking turning invisible._

 

He manages to manoeuvre his way behind the man holding the cashier (the kid can’t be over thirteen, why are they always so _young?)_ put on his most intimidating voice and tries to keep it from wavering.

 

“Let him go.”

 

The guy jumps, pulls the cashier closer – the sign on his badge reads _Hi! My name’s Darren! –_ and re-cocks his gun against his forehead.

 

“’Ey, who said that?”

 

Blaine sighs internally.

 

_Why doesn’t that ever work?_

 

Deep breath. “That,” he says clearly, and he can feel Santana’s eyes on him, laughing, ready to step in and help at any moment, “was Blazer.”

 

Silence for a moment, and then-

 

“ _Blazer?”_ One of the guys laughs, coughs heavily, returns to a growly-chuckle. “What the hell kinda name is that?”

 

“You can put the money back, and put down the kid, and everything’ll go back to normal.”

 

One of the other guys laughs again, and Blaine squints a little in anger.

 

_What are they finding so funny? You’re gonna kick their asses in a second._

 

“Last chance.”

 

“ _Last chance –_ man, what the hell are ya doin’?” The one holding Darren scoffs, tightening his grip around the boy; Blaine can see his forehead starting to sweat, and he knows he has to move _now._

 

Reaching out, he tries to touch the gun as subtly as he can and then- _fire from veins through fingertips and through the silver and melting melting melting-_

 

The guy screams, loosening his grip on Darren and _keep moving someone could die this is **real**_ grabbing the boy’s shoulder and then he’s invisible and clapping a hand around his mouth because Blaine knows he’s probably going to be stupid enough to make some kind of sound unless Blaine stops him and feet flying across cheap linoleum ( _so much fucking cheap linoleum in this town_ ) until he reaches the first aisle and lets go of the kid and-

 

“Who are-“ Darren starts, but Blaine’s back at the front of the store and there’s no need for him to be invisible now, his mask is on and the hostage is safe and the guy sees him coming, but seeing isn’t really enough to stop Blaine yanking the gun from his hands, burning it into thin air and heat and the guy stumbles back against one of the checkouts and-

 

Blaine sucks in a breath as the bullet hits him solidly, the impact alone almost blowing him over. He’s probably still for a little too long, because the group starts talking to him again.

 

“ _Blazer –_ kid, you tryin’ to be a superhero or something?” The tone is meant to be taunting, but it just sounds unnaturally stupid. A little intimidated, even. “There’s hardly a real hero in this world, anyway.”

 

Blaine lets out the breath, grits his teeth. “All I’m tryingto do is stop you from putting this supermarket _out of business_ and _hurting innocent people.”_

 

Neither of them notice the cell-phone camera, somewhat subtly held up from the middle of the crouching crowd.

 

Blaine clutches at his side – the bullet didn’t go through, but he can tell it’s probably going to bruise a little – and glares up at the man, still holding the gun like it’s going to do him some kind of good.

 

“Just go.”

 

The man noticeably gulps.

 

“No.”

 

_Why are you all so fucking defiant?_

 

The world’s clear and then it’s a little blurred as Blaine rushes forward, lets the guy shoot at him, lets all of them shoot as he grabs each gun and melts them into oblivion and beats the strugglers down, grabbing the one that manages to sneak up on him with a bat by the wrist and flipping him forwards over one of the checkouts and the horrifying _snap_ that Blaine shudders at probably means he broke something but he can’t really bring himself to care.

 

“You’re gonna leave the money on the counter,” he huffs, a little out-of-breath, clutching the guy’s shoulders as tight as he can, “and you and your little buddies are gonna wait in the corner with your hands up and your eyes down until the police arrive. _Got it?_ ” he spits a little at the end.

 

“What – what are you gonna do…if we don’t?” The guy sneers, panting for breath.

 

Blaine tugs him to sit with one hand, holds him steady and waits for him to try and attack him before he punches him in one smooth, solid movement and it’s all in slow-motion but it happens so fast and he hears the guy’s jaw crack back and he slumps to the side, falls on the ground and Brittany’s in his head _you just knocked him out it’s fine, he’s just unconscious,_ but Blaine can’t stop staring at the unmoving body less than a metre away from him.

 

“That goes to the rest of you, too,” he projects, voice, hands shaking a little.

 

The wail of sirens stabs through the air, and Blaine doesn’t have a body.

 

_Meet us at the bakery, okay?_

 

Three minutes later, he, Santana and Brittany are kneeling behind _Piercing Treats!,_ Santana carefully pressing at his chest to locate bruises that might need tending to.

 

“There’s none.”

 

_Thank god._

 

“Don’t go doing any extreme sports, though, okay?”

 

He mock-salutes her; she fake-slaps him on the cheek.

 

Two miles from the bakery, a finger clicks an _upload_ button, and Rachel Berry reminds herself that she _can_ make an exception from uploading videos from her singing repertoire just for the minute-long, low-quality ass kicking that shadow-clad, yet vulnerable man hadjust showed her.

 

“W-who was that?” She’s crouching in one of the first aisles, but she has to peer around until she sees a small boy with black curly hair and – oh, it’s the cashier.

 

“That,” she says clearly, “was _Blazer.”_


	19. Chapter 19

“That was _who?!”_

 

“Blazer,” Rachel says, toothy-wide smile in place, glancing back up at Kurt as they shuffle along the crowded corridor. “He kicked some serious ass.”

 

_“Serious ass?_ Rachel, this is sounding more and more like some B-grade superhero movie from the nineties.” Kurt says, somewhat stiffly, attempting to keep his gaze fixed ahead.

 

“Did you see the bit where he-“

 

“-flew into view from mid-air? Knocked out some criminal with a single punch?” Kurt huffs.

 

Rachel slaps him lightly on the forearm, giggles.

 

“He’s pretty powerful, you know, Kurt.” She says, all-hushed. “When he flips that one guy over the counter, if you listen really closely, you can hear his wrist snapping.”

 

“That’s nice.” Kurt says. “I don’t really see why that’s at all relevant to-“

 

“-it’s _relevant_ because while you might not care too much about the abilities clearly demonstrated in the video-“

 

“- _abilities_?” Kurt scoffs, walks a little faster. “Rachel, it’s the twenty-first century, have you never heard of _special effects?_ Maybe even _camera tricks?_ ”

 

“ _Special effects_ – Kurt Hummel!” Rachel gasps lowly, glaring back at him. “Of course I have, even Broadway uses it nowadays-“

 

“-then why on earth are you believing what is clearly some amateur show-off who decided to stage a _robbery_ to get his fifteen minutes of fame?”

 

“ _Because I was there!”_ Rachel shrieks, suddenly, the sound echoing down the hallway and freezing the footsteps and faces of the surrounding students. Rachel smiles tightly, brightly, clutches Kurt’s arm and powerwalks him down to their lockers.

 

“What do you mean, you were _there_?” Kurt asks sharply when they get there, almost wrenching his arm from its socket while attempting to get it out of Rachel’s grasp.

 

“I was at the robbery,” she replies defiantly, opening her locker. “Hell, the video itself is mine – I swear, Jacob Ben Israel stole it from _my_ MySpace.”

 

“If you were in an _armed robbery,_ Rachel, then why were you recording it?” Kurt sighs, leaning up against his locker, blinking his eyes awake. “Wasn’t there a bigger picture involved, y’know, the fact that you might _be_ _killed_?”

 

He pulls out his phone, fires off a quick text to Blaine.

 

_Hey, can you bring me coffee when you get here? Its 8:30 and my eyes are already giving up._

 

“This was a _real-life superhero,_ Kurt.” Rachel half-whines, heaving a maths textbook from her locker and cringing at the worn cover. “This guy was insane – he could melt solid guns with his hands, turn things invisible-“

 

“-and he calls himself _Blazer_?” Kurt asks warily, checking his phone for a reply from Blaine.

 

_Of course, sweetie – Grande non-fat mocha, right? xx_

 

Kurt smiles to himself coyly, taps out a reply.

 

_You know my coffee order?_ _J_

 

The reply is almost instant.

 

_Of course I do, dummy._

 

“Of course he does, Kurt.” Rachel deadpans. “Every budding saviour needs an alter ego.”

 

“And _you_ would definitely risk your life for a budding saviour.”

 

“No, Kurt!” Rachel says, voice confident-smug, snapping her locker shut. “I’d risk my life for the _greater good_ , just like Blazer did.”

 

Kurt snorts. “What _greater good_ is going to come from that video, may I ask?”

 

“Well, anyone that has an internet connection can now see the powers of _Blazer_ in full storm.” Rachel’s head is high, something like pride trickling through her voice. “I think that’s pretty great.”

 

Her eyes light up like smiles, looking past Kurt.

 

“Don’t you, Blaine?”

 

*

 

“Don’t you, Blaine?”

 

Blaine freezes, which is a really bad idea because the coffee he was shifting hand-to-hand stays on his left palm a little too long, scalds it and he lets out a tiny _ow_ as he switches hands and Kurt _finally_ grabs the coffee off him and looks back with grateful, sleepy-adorable eyes and kisses Blaine’s slight-scalded palm better.

 

“Good morning, Mister Medium-Drip,” Kurt says, releasing Blaine’s wrist as gently as he can.

 

_Perfect._

 

Rachel steps in-between them, turning to hug Blaine and suddenly Kurt’s laughing silently behind his hand and he tries not to hug back too awkwardly and tilts his head to the side to fit into the half-curve of her shoulder and it only feels half-awkward until Rachel pats his back.

 

“What do you think of him, Blaine?” Rachel asks as she steps away, smiling a little too sincerely at him.

 

Blaine gulps. “Think of who?”

 

_There’s a video, Brittany, can you hear me? There’s a video of me in skin-tight black spandex melting guns and punching people to unconsciousness on the internet and Rachel Berry knows about it and-_

 

Brittany rounds the corner, suddenly, slams into him and he lets out a small _oh_ of air.

 

“Blaine!” She says, over-cheerful, looping her arms around him and squeezing tightly.

 

_There’s a video now?_

 

_Just listen._

 

“Brittany!” Rachel says brightly, and Kurt’s eyes are wide and he’s shaking his head at Blaine, and the tension that seems to be radiating out through Rachel’s smile alone pushes static electricity to run up Blaine’s spine.

 

“We were just talking about _Blazer_ ,” Kurt says, suddenly, sweeping forward in one smooth motion to come between Brittany and Rachel, pulling Blaine into a hug and bringing his lips up close to Blaine’s ear.

 

“Just go with it,” he whispers rapidly, “she’s fucking _obsessed_ about that try-hard kid and she hasn’t shut up all morning, seriously, just tell her what you think so we can go people-watch in peace.”

 

“Try-hard kid?” Blaine hisses back, squeezes his hand a little firmer against the small of Kurt’s back.

 

_Please, don’t actually be me._

 

“Some teenage Houdini that likes to call himself _Blazer,_ yeah, she recorded him stopping some robbery and now it’s gone viral. _Scandal_ , huh?”

 

Blaine stops breathing for a second.

 

_Viral?_

 

A moment passes, and Kurt breaks the hug, takes a deep breath.

 

“So, Rachel, you were saying?”

 

Rachel pulls out her phone, crosses quickly to the centre of the group. “I’ll prove it to you – it’s _my_ video, and I was there.”

 

Once Rachel’s concentration is safely focused on her phone, Blaine allows himself to glare.

 

*

 

“Blaine, you can’t actually destroy the building.”

 

Blaine isn’t so much punching the wall as throwing his fists at it and hoping they hit properly, but it’s nothing if not effective.

 

“If Rachel’s still in it, I can try.” He huffs out, all-aggressive, and lets his hands drop to solid weights by his side. “Why, Brittany? Why did she do that?”

 

“It’s in her personality, I guess?” Brittany tries to shrug nonchalantly, but even she looks a little pissed off. “She saw something cool happening, and she wanted a piece of the action.”

 

“Well, now anyone that has an internet connection-“ _punch_ “-which is pretty much the entire population of this _country-_ ” _punch_ “-can get a piece of the action too.”

 

“Look, Blaine-“ Brittany says, resting a hand on his shoulder, “-I know I’m the last person that should be telling you this, but you need to calm down.”

 

 “I know, I really do, but I can’t – I’ve only been a _crime-fighter_ for a month and I’m probably already being violated online.” Blaine whines, sighs, turns back to the wall. “The video already has twenty-thousand views-“ _punch_ “-and I don’t think I can deal with the fact that of all people to put it up, it was Rachel Berry-” _punch_ “-I mean come on, of _all_ the people in _all_ of everywhere-“ _punch_ “-it had to be her.”

 

He finishes, chest heaving with each breath, his body practically caving into itself every few seconds.

 

_“-she’s fucking **obsessed** with that try-hard kid-”_

 

“Kurt hates him.” He says, sudden and out-of-breath. “He hates Blazer, oh god, he hates _me-“_

 

_“-Blaine_.”

 

“-what if he finds out? It’s not that hard to figure out basic things about _Blazer,_ Rachel did it, so it can’t be, what if he finds out that I’m lying to him and he hates me and-”

 

_SLAP._

 

“For the love of everything holy, Blaine Devon Anderson, _sit the fuck down!”_ Brittany screeches, shaking out her now-red hand.

 

Blaine sits on the ground, crosses his legs, rubs at his cheek as softly as he can.

 

“You’re a good person, okay? If people look close enough, they recognize it, and Kurt’s been looking for as long as he can and you know it.”

 

Blaine looks up at Brittany, eyes slitted, silent.

 

“He knows that you’re a good person – you’re _saving people’s lives_ , for chrissakes!”

 

“You heard him, okay?” Blaine stares at his shoes. “I’m just a try-hard kid-“

 

“He thinks _Blazer_ is a try-hard kid-“

 

_“-and I’m Blazer!”_ Blaine’s voice echoes through the empty bleachers, and Brittany flinches.

 

“ _Again,_ calm down.” Brittany hisses. “And Kurt knows nothing about Blazer, okay? But he knows everything about you.”

 

“Obviously not, since-“

 

“-this is different, okay? You have fucking _superpowers._ People’s lives could be at risk if you tell them, so try not to worry about it, okay? You have reasons to be keeping this from him.”

 

“It’s gonna come out eventually, though.”

 

“And when it does, you’ll both cross that bridge together, okay?”

 

Blaine tries to glare, but Brittany pouts, and he gives up within a second.

 

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

 

*

 

_“-and I’m Blazer!”_

 

_Don’t go back there it’s none of your business, you’ve already screwed up so much and you can’t afford to put another toe out of line, you’re already homeless-_

 

“Blaine?” Sebastian breathes out, running a hand through his hair. The last few days had been confusing if nothing else, but this just blew things out of the water.

 

_Superpowers? Saving lives?_

 

Sebastian scoffs at himself.

 

_Don’t be ridiculous, he couldn’t have…but he survived, when I…_

 

Sebastian blinks.

 

_…when I stabbed him? Oh god, I **did** stab him, fuck-“_

 

**You stabbed him alright – he got in your way.**

 

Sebastian stops breathing for a second – he can’t handle the voice, not now, he needs to be thinking positive and s _top, please, I want to be a good person-_

 

**Is goodness really better than being powerful?**

 

_Of course it is, I **know** it is…_

 

**You know you’re lying to yourself; you tried to be good, and your father kicked you out. How is that better?**

 

Sebastian tilts his head to the side, just a little, and steps away from the corner where he was watching Blaine.

 

**You could be powerful right now, but you let other things get in your way-**

 

“Like him.” Sebastian whisper-growls to the thin air, hands clenching around nothing. “I could have everything I ever wanted, but he got everything instead.”

 

**Exactly.**

 

“No. No!” Sebastian hisses, suddenly, drags his hands over his face in an effort to wipe away the voice. “He’s a good person, that’s why everything’s working out for him.”

 

**You could stop him, you know, if you listened to me.**

 

_I don’t need to stop him, I need to leave him and Kurt alone and focus on myself now can you please leave me-_

 

**But that’s not what you want.**

 

_It’s what’s right._

 

**You’re lying to yourself.**

 

**_I know what has to be done._ **


	20. Chapter 20

“Have you seen Blaine at all since this morning?”

Rachel pauses mid-step, yanking Kurt to a halt in the middle of the pathway, scrunching up her forehead as she thinks. “No, actually, I haven’t.”

“Wait, what?” Kurt turns to face her properly. “It’s been eight hours, Rachel, are you sure he hasn’t-”

“-well, he wasn’t in Modern History, which _is_ the only class we have together, so yeah.” She interrupts, releasing Kurt’s arm. “I’m pretty sure.”

Kurt sighs, glancing back to the school – it’s almost empty, now; even the few study groups and extracurriculars that remain after-hours would be finished. “And you didn’t see him leave at all?”

“No, Kurt.” Rachel says, patting his shoulder softly. “Maybe he got sick and had to leave early?”

“No, he would’ve texted me.” Kurt says, worry seeping into his voice. “He would always text me, unless he doesn’t have his phone or-” Kurt pauses, eyes frantic-wide. “-or he can’t get to it, and I know he has his phone because we were texting this morning and I asked him to bring me coffee-”

“I’m sure he’s fine, okay?” Rachel squeezes his shoulder, attempts to sound reassuring. “It’s probably on silent, or out of charge, or-”

“-Rachel, I appreciate the comfort, I really do, but I haven’t seen him either and I really need to make sure he’s okay.”  Kurt nods to himself. “You can go, it won’t take long anyway.”

 “You expect me to let you go in back in there alone?”Rachel sighs, looking pointedly at Kurt. “There could be _janitors,_ ” she hiss-whispers, and Kurt snorts.

“Are you sure? I’ll only be ten minutes-“

_“-Kurt.”_ She interrupts, somewhat-softly. “Let me help.”

*

_Hey – call me back when you get this, okay? I haven’t seen you since this morning._

_Blaine? I’m getting a little worried. Get back to me ASAP, okay?_

_If you don’t contact me by 5, I’m waiting at the school until I find you._

Blaine sighs, plugs his cell back into its charger.

_Really?_ _The one day my phone decides to die?_

He taps in Kurt’s number quickly, holds the receiver up to his ear-

_Verizon wishes to advise that you have insufficient credit to make a call-_

Blaine groans, guttural-deep from his chest, and hangs up.

_C’mon, you can go pick him up, buy him coffee, drive him home. It’ll be cute._

Blaine sighs again, pulls on his coat, grabs his keys and half-charged phone and heads to McKinley.

*

“Blaine?”

They both started out timid, at first, calling out as lowly as they could manage while still being audible; since Rachel had all but perfected her ability to speak through extended periods of doing so, she automatically took the lead. 

Now, though, it was almost five-thirty, and the skies outside were steadily fading from blue to black.

“Kurt, I don’t think he’s here.” Rachel says, slumping against a locker and pressing her feet flat to the ground. “Wouldn’t he have answered by now?”

“He would’ve answered if he could, Rachel-”

“-exactly,” she deadpans. “So he’s probably not here.”

Kurt huffs in a breath, scrunches up his eyes in frustration. Breathes out. “Maybe he can’t answer back, that’s why we have to keep-”

“-Kurt, don’t you think you might be…overreacting, a little?” Rachel tries, pushing herself off the locker. “I mean, what could be stopping him from-”

“-I don’t know, Rachel, maybe he’s been locked in one of the bathrooms, or in a locker, or-“

“-please calm down, okay? Just your voice is making me nervous.”

“It should be!” It’s sudden and too-loud, echoing down the empty hallway, and Kurt flinches into himself. “Sorry, I just…”

“I know,” Rachel says, and Kurt can tell that it’s supposed to be comforting, but it just makes everything that tiny bit more real. “And I’m sure he’s fine, okay?”

Kurt sighs at his toes. “I lingered around this hall for too long after classes once, Rachel.” He pauses, glances up to see Rachel almost looking as concerned as he feels, swallows. “A couple of jocks thought it would be fun to put the gay kid back in the closet, see how long he lasts.”

Rachel’s gasp seems to suck all the air from the hallway, but it’s all back a second later when she grabs his shoulder and he can hear himself breathing heavy.

“…what happened?”

Kurt hesitates, tries not to let his eyes water too much, but he knows Rachel can tell how much it’s affecting him.

“Well,” he sniffles, and Rachel squeezes his shoulder encouragingly, “I would’ve been stuck in there the entire night, but I managed to call my Dad and he had to come to bust me out before the school was officially locked up.”

“Oh, Kurt,” Rachel whispers, and then her hand is curling around to his back and pulling him into a tight, one-armed hug. Kurt lets his eyes shut, just for a moment, and a few tears slide down his cheek, leaving little silver-wet trails in their wake.

“I’d always been a little claustrophobic, but that just took the cake,” he says, head feeling as croaky as his voice.

“I’m so sorry-” Rachel starts, too-quiet, but Kurt hold up a hand to stop her and just shakes his head.

“I’m not looking for sympathy, Rachel.”

“Why did you tell me, then?” She asks, a little louder, breaking the hug.

“So that you know how badly I need to make sure Blaine’s okay.”

Kurt turns to continue walking down the hallway, lets his voice echo as much as it likes as he continues to call, pulls out his phone and hands it to Rachel.

“Can you try to call him again?”

She nods quickly, taps in Blaine’s number and sets it to speaker. It rings twice, and then-

“Kurt?”

*

“Kurt?” Blaine breathes out into the receiver, jogging through the school parking lot until he’s a few feet from the front doors.

“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice sounds a little echo-y, worry-tired. “Where are you?”

“At the front of the school.” Blaine half-laughs, glancing up at the two-storey pile of bricks before him as he pushes at the door – locked. He sighs.

“Oh.” Kurt pauses. “It’s locked, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

He hears Kurt sigh, mutter something to someone in the background.

“Can you meet us out near the football field?”

“Sure,” Blaine says, eyes scanning for the quickest route to get behind the school, backtracks. “Wait, us?”

“Yep.”

“So you and…”

“Rachel.”

“Ah.” Blaine says, a small smile upturning his lips. A moment passes.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” Kurt says, a little breathlessly.

“Okay, I love y-” Blaine starts, but a sudden yelp breaks through the middle of his sentence, and the sound of clanging metal screeches through everything else.

“Oh my god, are you-”

“-shut up, you little bitch.” And the second voice is different, lower, too low to be Kurt or Rachel and Blaine’s spine starts to tingle-

“You wouldn’t actually use that-”

The sharp, solid sound of a gunshot echoes through Blaine’s receiver, and he can hear it muffled by the building before him.

“Try me.”

The dial tone sounds.


	21. Chapter 21

“So you and…”

“Rachel.” Kurt says, and he can almost feel Blaine trying not to smile through the receiver.

“Ah.” Blaine’s voice is slight-static, but it still sounds gorgeously soft. Rachel’s tugging on his arm urgently-quiet, so Kurt looks down to see her staring down the hallway and back-stepping as quickly as she can, and so he follows her eyes and his heart jumps up to his throat.

_Get out of here, they’ll see you and then everyone knows what happens next._

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” Kurt says quietly, a little breathless, as he begins back-stepping as well – they both make it about three feet before Rachel yelps, jumps back towards Kurt, flattens them both against the lockers with a too-loud bang and Kurt makes the mistake of glancing behind himself and seeing another great hulking figure lingering there, eyes glinting against the growing darkness.

The figure lets out a low whistle, but it’s far too loud to go unnoticed; the sounds carries down the hallway, and the small group of people that Kurt had wanted to so desperately avoid perk up.

Kurt grabs Rachel’s hand, tries to tug her away from the lockers, to get away from whatever’s about to happen and he almost thinks he can before he feels the solid press of a cold, metal circle on the side of his head.

“Oh my god, are you-” Rachel starts, frightened-high and-

“-shut up, you little bitch.” The jock says, low and leering, before glancing down the corridor and gesturing for the rest of the group to move closer.

Kurt huffs out a small breath – the gun isn’t even that cold, but it’s making Kurt’s spine shudder like he’s just been frozen to death and re-awoken – and gathers up what little courage he can find before he lets his trembling voice escape.

“You wouldn’t actually use that-”

The sound of the gunshot slaps through Kurt’s eardrums, smacks through his entire body as he drops his phone and he flinches away before realizing that he hasn’t been hit, glances over to Rachel and freezes because she’s not moving except for shallow breaths that sound far too familiar and wide, shock-watery eyes and a slow-growing patch of darkness seeping through her cardigan.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

The jock pulls away the gun as Rachel manages to shudder out a breath, obviously trying not to move too much as she pushes all of her weight onto the lockers and squeezes her eyes shut. Seeing the phone still clearly illuminating itself on the floor, he makes eye contact with Kurt and aims the gun at him as one of the others picks it up.

“Try me.”

The phone call hangs up, suddenly, and the corridor is launched into nothing but dim, dark air and hurried breaths.

*

The dial tone sounds, and Blaine blinks into the dim air; a brain-splittingly desperate scream muffles through the brick before him, and he doesn’t have a body.

The doors hold for less than a second once Blaine is pushing on them, chains snapping from the pressure alone, glass splintering into little cracks as the doors slam into their respective walls. A moment passes, and Blazer appears in the arch of the doorway, skin glowing from the wildfire spreading through his veins and skin and bones, glowing from the very core of his being around the black of his costume.

_Let’s go._

*

“Rachel? Rachel, everything’s going to be fine, I promise.” Kurt whispers, somewhat-comfortingly, eyes still locked with the gun-holder. “Just stay awake, okay?”

Rachel gives the slightest of nods, clutching at her forearm as tears coat her cheeks, breathing in fast, shallow huffs, almost-hyperventilating.

A screech of shoes sliding along the floor echoes through the hallway, and Kurt glances over to see one of the guys staring shell-shocked at Rachel, hand over his mouth and slightly shaking.

“Pete – y-you actually shot-”

“-no names, remember?” Pete hisses, glaring at the other guy. “She’ll be fine.”

“ _Fine?_ She’s been _shot!”_ Kurt says, a little louder than before, slight-anger burning under his veins. “I know you might not have thought this out as much as you should have, but we need to get her to a hospital-”

“-do you wanna need a hospital too, huh?”

_That didn’t really make any sense._

Kurt shuts his mouth.

“Pete, she looks really-”

“-I said, shut up!” Pete half-yells, finally pointing the gun away from Kurt and waving it in the general direction of the others. “I’m the one in charge here, alright? I say what happens.”

_You **say** what happens- you know what, I’m not even gonna go there._

“We don’t want any trouble, okay? We just-”

“-good.”Pete smiles. “Because we’re not gonna have any.”

Kurt pauses, swallows nervously. “What do you mean?”

The gun waves back towards him, and Kurt’s brain just stops. Rachel’s almost fully on the floor next to him, the top of her cardigan coated in wetness.

Pete chuckles. “Get in the closet.”

Kurt freezes.

_No, no no no._

“No.” He whispers, as hard as he can, glaring at Pete, and then his arm is being clutched at and dragged forward and his stomach is lurching the same way and _no fuck not again please no_ and-

“ _Get off him!”_

*

“ _Fine?_ She’s been _shot!”_

Blaine spins around at the noise, however quiet it is, and tries to quiet his breathing so he can follow it – if this situation is as bad as it seems to be; if Rachel’s really been shot, then he needs to pick up the pace.

“We don’t want any trouble, okay? We just-”

“-good.” A moment passes, and Blaine tries to run as quietly as he can towards the voices. “Because we’re not gonna have any.”

_I swear to god, if you touch him-_

He rounds the corner, sees some guy pulling a struggling Kurt towards the janitors closet and gives up on holding himself back.

“ _Get off him!”_

The gun’s in his hands within a second, thin air the next but it’s nowhere near enough so he grabs the back of the gun-holder’s head, smashes it into a locker with unnecessary force and the body crumples to the floor and the other guys are sprinting away as fast as they can, not looking back, and Blazer is a second away from crushing their heads in too before he hears a sharp, air-piercing scream that sobers away almost all the rage. He turns, skits back over and drops to his knees next to a ghostly-white Rachel.

Kurt’s hands are fretting around the air above her, obviously unsure of what to do, but then he glances to the side and sees the fully black-cloaked, glowing figure and freezes. Blaine tries not to look at his face too much.

“W-who are you?” Kurt sounds firm, assuring, but Blaine knows that voice and he knows that Kurt is actually _terrified._ He lets himself look.

“I’m – I’m Blazer.”

A moment passes, and Kurt looks more confused than Blaine has ever seen him in the last four years.

“You’re – okay, that’s just _sick_ , you asshole.” Kurt spits, suddenly, and Blaine can’t do much more but gape. “It’s one thing to make a crappy video and let it run viral, but even some superhero fanatic should know that getting somebody shot is going _way_ too far.”

And the anger’s back, if only a little.

“I – you – okay, it’s really insulting that you actually think I’d _want_ this to happen-”

“-why else would you _magically_ be at the scene of the crime, hmm?” Kurt prompts, trying to lift Rachel’s good shoulder so she can sit up. “It’s insulting to think that I’m stupid enough to believe that you’re a _superhero,_ that this was all a coincidence-”

“-that’s because it is!” Blazer half-growls.. “How the fuck do you think I’m _glowing?”_

“Special lighting, materials, glow-in-the-dark paint-”

“Oh, for god’s sake-” Blazer hisses, bends down and carefully picks up Rachel in one fell swoop, lets her curl into his chest. Glares at Kurt. “Explain away that.”

Kurt stumbles over his words for a second as he picks himself up, glaring back just as hard. “So what, you lift.” He says, somewhat-mockingly. “That doesn’t mean you’re anything special.”

Blaine breathes in slow, sighs at his toes. “We can stand here arguing all night, or we can get Rachel to a hospital.” He says, voice a little stiffer than intended. “Your choice.”

Kurt only manages to glare for a second longer before he lets himself look at Rachel.

“Fine.”

*

“And you’re sure she’ll be fine?”

A moment passes, and Blaine really wishes he could punch a wall without prompting any more questions.

“Yes, yes, okay. Goodnight, Mister Berry.”

Kurt hangs up his phone, and Blaine doesn’t think he’s ever been in such an awkward silence.

“So.Um.” Kurt clears his throat. “On the off chance that you’re actually a superhero, then I’d like to say thank you.”

Blaine opens his mouth-

“And goodnight.”

Kurt starts to walk off into the darkness, and Blaine’s spine itches like a flea-ridden hound.

“Whoa, whoa!” He says, skitting across the gravel until he’s in front of Kurt, holds up his hands in mock-surrender before dropping them to his sides. “You really think I’m letting you walk home alone?”

“I can take care of myself, you know.” Kurt says, all-defiant. “I’m eighteen.”

“You’re an unarmed gay man in the middle of Homophobia, Ohio.” Blaine says, before he can stop himself, and he does revel a little in the look on Kurt’s face as he splutters.

“I – I’m _fine.”_ He glares. _“_ I’ll be fine. Goodnight, _Blazer.”_

“What do you have against me?”

And all the playful-lightness is gone from the air within the moment. Kurt’s shoulders tense, and he lets out a long, low breath before answering.

“I’ve got nothing against you.” He says quietly, hands-in-pockets, before turning to walk away. Blaine catches up in a heartbeat.

“Then why do you-”

“-I – I’m not a very… _trusting_ person.” Kurt sighs. “And I have no reason to trust you, but I have a heap of reasons not to.”

Blaine stops himself, lets his mind process for a bit before he replies.

“Can I tell you something?”

Kurt hesitates, nods.

“I guess I’m kind of like you – not trusting people and all. My family didn’t really help with that.” He says, rolling his steps to distract himself somewhat. “And I was alone for so, so long, and I had absolutely no-one – but then…” He trails off.

“Hmm?” Kurt prompts, trying to sound uninterested, and Blaine smiles to himself.

“Let’s just say I took a…leap of faith, a chance; I took a shitload of chances, to be honest.”

“And how’d that work out, Mister Fahrenheit?”

Blaine actually laughs out loud at that, picking up his step a little.

“It was all a bit of a shock, to be honest – but then the aftereffects of what happened caught up with me, and now – I have friends, superpowers, and I get to walk home a lovely person such as yourself.”

Kurt snorts. “You’re humouring me.”

“I’m being honest, sweetheart.”

Kurt opens his mouth in a mock-gape, somewhat-scandalized, and gasps dramatically. “I felt that burn to my core, good sir.”

“I guess that’s why they call me Mister Fahrenheit, huh?”


	22. Chapter 22

Kurt smiles, goes to reply with something witty and classy and perfect but then he stops in his tracks, and Blaine has to stop and backtrack so he can turn around and face him properly.

“Blaine.” Kurt says, somewhat-quiet, looking at him with wide eyes.

Blaine freezes, stutters on air, stutters for some kind of answer because Kurt is just staring at him and neither of them move until-

“Oh gosh, sorry!” Kurt says, suddenly, snapping into action and reaching into his pocket. “Blaine – my boyfriend – he was coming to pick me up, I should let him know that I’m fine,” he explains, tapping in the number as he speaks. “I’ll only be a second.”

And then Blaine has to snap into action, has to do _something_ because he can feel the small, solid, all too-obvious press of his phone in his pocket, and he distinctly remembers disregarding it after the dial tone sounded (which still makes his heart pound like a sledgehammer) which means that he didn’t turn it off or down and that means that there’s almost a one hundred percent chance that-

-his phone rings, loud and clear, and the second it takes Kurt to look over at him, stand up straight and click the _end call_ button seems like the longest second of his life.

Kurt stares at him, slowly crosses his arms. “Why do you have my boyfriend’s phone?”

_Well, shit._

Blaine simply stares for a moment, lets himself gape a little because Kurt can’t see it, eyes blinking uselessly fast as his brain fires through for any possible explanation and-

“He…I…he dropped it – I-” Blaine cuts himself off before he can stumble over his words too much, tries to fix his thoughts into one straight line so he can provide a somewhat-convincing explanation.

Kurt raises an eyebrow, taps his foot against the old pavement, impatient-quick.

“When I first got to the school, he was there – he was freaking out, he heard a gunshot and then he couldn’t call you back – so I told him I could get up there, and that he should head home in case he was found at the scene of the crime-”

“-scene of the crime?” Kurt interrupts, tone suspicious, lifting his chin a little higher.

“I – somebody shot somebody, and as far as I know that’s a crime.” He only manages to splutter a little as he speaks, lets himself stand a little straighter. “And a lot of people in this town would rather blame the gay kid than some football player.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, and even though he’s still standing straight, face snarky and sharply-angled, it sounds quiet, small. Accepting. “I understand.” He glances down to his shoes as he answers.

“He must’ve dropped it, so I picked it up and…” Blaine wants to reach out, comfort him, hold Kurt tight in his arms until he feels his arms growing numb from the pressure. “…here we are.”

But he can’t.

“You should probably get home,” Blaine says, as lightly as he can, and Kurt manages to smile at him, if only a little.

“Blaine lives next to me – you could just give me his phone, and I could drop it off when I go to check on him.”

Blaine nods before he can stop himself, reaching into his pocket and handing his phone to Kurt.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Blaine calls out as Kurt walks off, lets the night air half-swallow him as he steps away. “I can walk you home, you know.”

Kurt chuckles as he turns around.

“Goodnight, Blazer.”

*

Blaine can’t help worrying, so he walks Kurt home from the shadows, footsteps falling quiet on the roadside as he watches his boyfriend pace one slightly-louder foot in front of the other, wonders how he manages to look so casual and calm when it’s so close to being pitch black and he thinks he’s alone.

Kurt stops, suddenly, stands perfect-still on his side of the road, head cocked a little to the side. Listening.

“You know, for a superhero, you’re pretty bad at being quiet.”

Blaine doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. A moment passes, and Kurt sighs at his feet, continues walking.

“I’m sorry, you know.”

Keeps walking, stops breathing.

_What on earth for?_

“I’d probably be unconscious, right now, if it weren’t for you.” Kurt says, biting his lip, shaking his head a little. “And I know I’ve already said thank you, but…” he trails off, looking at the ground as he walks. Squeezes his eyes open-shut for a moment. “It’s silly to say it if you’re not here.” He says, more to himself than anything else.

_It’s not silly. Not ever._

Blazer stays silent, waits until Kurt is a few houses away from his own (just to make sure), speeds over to his own and rushes through the door, up the stairs, into his room and the door is shut so Blaine can _finally_ rip off the mask and _thunk_ his head against his door and let himself breathe for a second.

He hears the door of Kurt’s house open, hears the gruff-concerned voice of Burt Hummel but doesn’t register the words, hears Kurt sound a little more upset than he seemed and his heart drops.

Blaine hears his own name, loud and clear and sobering, quickly changes out of his costume and rushes down the stairs and a moment passes before the doorbell’s ringing and he opens the door and there is Kurt Hummel, slight-slouching in his doorway.

They both mutter _thank god_ at the same time, and Blaine rushes forward and swings his arms around him and squeezes as hard as he’s wanted to all night. Kurt pushes him away, just a bit, gives him his phone and mutters _you dropped this_ and everything clicks back into place, and Blaine remembers that _he_ hasn’t heard from Kurt since the gunshot.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, suddenly, pulling back a little so he can kiss Kurt hard on the mouth, let his tongue push past his lips and teeth and let his arms curve up around the top of Kurt’s shoulders so his hand can massage the back of Kurt’s neck. Kurt lets out this little whimper and melts into his chest a little more and Blaine knows he has to be doing something right.

Kurt pulls back a second later, forehead-to-forehead, noses almost touching, his breath nuzzling Blaine’s top lip with each tiny puff. “You’re okay.”

“I – I’m _fine,_ Kurt.” Blaine says, breaking apart a little more and looking up at his boyfriend. ”You – the gunshots-“

“-it was Rachel, one of the guys up there shot her,” Blaine gasps, and Kurt nods, “she’s fine now, though, she’s in hospital with her dads.”

“How’d you get out, though?” Blaine asks. “They had a gun and given that they already shot someone, I don’t see how they’d be uninclined to do it again.”

Kurt pauses. “They were going to.”

A moment passes.

“And?” Blaine prompts, heart speeding up.

“I…” Kurt trails off, buries his head in Blaine’s shoulder for a second before surfacing. “You know that video that’s been going around?”

Blaine raises an eyebrow.

“The one of the superhero kid? Blazer?”

Blaine’s heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”

“Well, he showed up,” Kurt says, glancing to the ground, “and as it turns out, he’s actually kind of an actual…superhero.”

Blaine opens his mouth to respond, but Kurt starts speaking again before he can.

“I know it sounds crazy, I really do, I honestly thought he staged the whole thing because he just said his name and it was like it was out of some movie and it was just beyond cliché but even logical stuff was telling me he was telling the truth, which doesn’t even make sense but he was _glowing,_ Blaine, and he picked Rachel up and he melted the gun and I’m pretty sure the guy that attacked me is still passed out in the hallway and – Blaine, you’re really warm, are you okay?”

Blaine blinks, lets his fingers stretch just to make sure and _oh crap,_ yeah, he’s burning up and not in the feverish way, and he shouldn’t really have thought about the guy attacking Kurt again but he doesn’t really mind reliving that moment of satisfaction a few too many times than strictly necessary.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Blaine says after a moment of Kurt blinking at him, “you were saying?

Kurt shakes his head a little, his hair falling a little askew, and Blaine’s heart swells at how adorable he looks.

“I was just saying that apparently I was wrong, and now…well, now I feel terrible.”

Blaine blinks, taken aback, slides his arms down to around Kurt’s shoulders and tugs him into the curve of his neck. “Why? Everyone’s fine, right?”

“Yeah.” Kurt shivers a little, and Blaine tugs him closer. “Thank god. But I’ve just been assuming things about this guy, things I can’t even prove, and I was beyond wrong.”

Blaine pats down the curve of his spine, and Kurt nestles his head to the side. “Everyone makes mistakes, baby.” They both freeze for a second at _baby,_ but then Kurt kisses the crease of his neck and Blaine takes it as a sign to continue. “There’s nothing wrong with it, you know?”

“I know, but I just feel really bad.” Kurt whispers into his neck. “I know it’s silly, but I can’t help it.”

“It’s not silly,” Blaine says, and he doesn’t really expect the words to come out so suddenly but it’s more like a reflex than anything else, and when Kurt’s watery-blue, slight-smile eyes glance up to meet his he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“I love you,” he says, pulling him in until their lips meet again, and it’s a second of blissful flesh before he manages to pull away.

“I love you too.”

“I should get home,” he says, biting his lip and looking at Blaine with wide eyes and he knows it’s probably unintentional but his mouth turns a little dry anyway.

“You should,” he says.

_You shouldn’t. You should stay and we should do things that I shouldn’t be thinking about._

Kurt just looks at him for a moment.

“I’ll see you later.” he says, stepping back and letting Blaine un-curve his arms, eyes staring and asking _next time?_ because they can’t really discuss this kind of thing with words, not yet.

“Yeah.” Blaine says, trying so hard to agree with his own eyes.

“My dad wants to meet you, by the way,” Kurt says, out of nowhere, and Blaine almost screams before catching himself. “Properly – he wanted me to ask about dinner on Sunday. Are you free?”

Kurt’s still staring at him, same way, and Blaine is the most confused he’s ever been in his life.

“I am.” He says, because he doesn’t really know what else to say that’ll agree to both. “I’m totally free.”

Kurt smiles.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Kurt laughs, kisses him on the cheek again before he goes to walk out the door, and Blaine’s hand almost-unconsciously reaches up to touch it.

“Goodnight, Blaine.”


	23. Chapter 23

Brittany knows it’s getting dark, far too dark to still be at the bakery, but she only wanted to try out a few new muffin recipes and _so what_ if she has to leave the lights on for an extra fifteen minutes, Santana is going to _kill_ for the blueberry ones.

 

There’s a knock at the door, three nervous-short raps, and Brittany lets her shoulders crick up and down before she turns around and – _oh._

 

She sighs, turns back to continue cleaning her oven. “What do you want, Sebastian?”

 

Sebastian looks almost lost for words for a moment, before:

 

“You need an assistant cashier?” He half-flinches away from the words.

 

Brittany hesitates, if only for a second, before turning and glaring at him. “Fucking really? Did you really think this was a good idea?”

 

“No, I just needed-”

 

“Oh, _Sebastian,”_ and Brittany’s in half-hysterics, shoulders shaking as she speaks, “you’ve got problems, man!”

 

Sebastian opens his mouth, closes it within the second.

 

“You don’t _need_ anything, okay?”

 

“And what would you know about needing things, huh?” Sebastian bursts out, unthinkingly-sudden. “You’re on the Cheerios. You _own_ a fucking bakery.” He pauses, barely-considering as Brittany glares. “You’re tapping one of the hottest girls in school.”

 

Brittany’s visibly shocked by the remark, but she manages to catch herself. “How dare you-”

 

“-what? Tell the truth?” Sebastian’s grinning, now, half-cruel glint in his eyes. “I wonder how Santana would feel if it suddenly became public knowledge that she’s a dyke.”

 

“You’re gay too _,_ you fucking idiot!” Brittany sigh-yells, exasperated, before the glint reaches her eyes too. “You were fucking one of the hottest guys in school, remember? Or have you already moved on to fucking up someone else’s life?”

 

“You see, the problem with that is that I’m fine with being gay; she’s not.”

 

“That’s not any of your business.”

 

“It could be the business of our entire school if you’re not careful with that tongue of yours.”

 

Brittany stops, letting her shoulders drop a little. “Why are you doing this?”

 

“I told you, I need-”

 

“-ha! You don’t need to do anything but stay away from us, Sebastian.”

 

“I need the money!” It’s half-desperate, but he’s as desperate as can be. “I need help.”

 

Brittany slams the oven door shut, unties her apron, sweet-satire-smiling as she walks past the counter, past Sebastian. “Well, you’ve already taken everything you’d get from me.”

 

Sebastian turns, snaps out a hand and grabs Brittany’s wrist.

 

“I know about Blaine.”

 

*

 

_I could have died today._

 

Kurt slumps back against his sheets, tries not to make his head/heart throb too much.

 

“ _Blazer_.”

 

It’s barely a whisper, but it breaks the silence of the room and it feels all-too-loud, and yet not loud enough.

 

Kurt feels like he should be screaming this name from the rooftops with the biggest megaphone known to mankind, should be grabbing every person he sees and telling them that there’s a boy made of fire, a Mister Fahrenheit that could burn out all the coldness in the world if he tried hard enough.

 

Pushing himself up from his bed, Kurt glances over to Blaine’s house, rolls his neck, sighs internally.

 

_It’s inspiration. Infatuation._

 

Breathes in-out, turns away.

 

_It’s not that, that’s for Blaine._

 

_I love Blaine._

 

And then his mind’s wandering to places that it can wander to, now, when he’s in the privacy of his room and the door is closed and Blaine’s just the next house across and maybe-probably thinking the same things and _god._

 

Kurt shakes his head.

 

_God, I could have died today._

 

*

 

Brittany turns with Sebastian’s pull, careful-squints at him.

 

“What do you mean?” She half-hisses, not bothering to wrench her arm away. “Everybody else already knows that he’s gay-”

 

Sebastian chuckles lightly, almost to himself. “Let’s just say that I know he’s been _burning up_ quite a bit, lately.”

 

Brittany’s eyes narrow. “You know nothing-”

 

“-I know that a fair few people would appreciate knowing the identity of the mystery man who walks around with the power of the _sun_ in his hand,” Sebastian grins, loosening his grip, and Brittany rips her hand away so fast he swears it blurs.

 

Brittany crosses her arms, stands sideways-defensive. “You have no proof.”

 

“They trust me.”

 

Brittany just scoffs at that, subconsciously-slow backing away.

 

“I know that they’d _also_ appreciate knowing the identity of any other little freaks.”

 

Brittany stops in her tracks. “What do you want?” She repeats, trying not to gulp too obviously.

 

“I was going to settle for the job,” he half-giggles, eyes almost all-glint, and Brittany shivers, “but now, I’m going to require your head.”

 

Brittany freezes.

 

_He’s a killer, god, fuck, he’s not kidding, **move.**_

 

Brittany leaps back just as Sebastian reaches out again, reaches behind her as she moves for a chair or a table or-

 

SLAP!

 

Brittany slams around the first thing she touches into Sebastian’s face; a serving tray.

 

“Fucking bitch,” he mutters, dragging down the side of his face with the back of his hand, fast-but-soft, slight-wincing when he feels a bruise.

 

Brittany’s just stepping back, back from the predator, moving back and away awayawayaway and – there’s a wall, fuck, she’s dead, fuck-

 

_Wait._

 

Brittany slides her hand up behind her, smooth-fast as her mind races.

 

It’s not a wall.

 

It’s a door.

 

Brittany smiles internally, still half-panicked, grabs the door handle with a clenched fist.

 

_Wait, wait, waitwaitwaitwait-_

 

Sebastian rushes forward, eyes like icicles and Brittany slams the door handle down and forward and – BANG!

 

It’s metal and heavy and big and Brittany’s moving too fast to really process what she’s doing as she grabs Sebastian’s collar and tugs him forward, pushes him past her through the door and _awayawayaway_ and there’s a sudden coldness in the air as she shoves him through with everything she’s got, shoves herself backwards and slams the door in front of her and turns the handle up and breathes for a second and – oh.

 

Sebastian’s in the freezer.

 

_The temperature in there, it’s literally ice, he won’t survive-_

 

Brittany stops herself, shaking her head and backing away and grabbing her keys and shutting off the lights and the door and riding home and trying to ignore the half-whimpered screams that she didn’t hear out loud.

 

*

 

_-dizzy, dizzy dizzy, oh fuck no, coldcoldcold, cold is bad, no cold and-_

 

Sebastian is heaving, can’t feel his fingertips, they’re ice, oh god, fuck, they’re _ice-_

 

**Don’t worry.**

 

_don'tworryHAfuckingdizzy, so dizzy, can’t breathe-_

 

**We don’t need to breathe. You’ll be alright.**

 

_needbreatheairlive, fuck, fuckfuck, gonna die-_

 

**Don’t worry about the air; you might be able to die, but we can’t.**

 

_Whatwhatfuckohgod_

 

His arms are ice, god, they’re not just frozen, if he glances down all he can see is _white-_

 

_arms – i – my arms-_

 

**Our arms.**

 

The ice is sliding up his neck, crackling and cold-burn-stinging through his skin and flesh and blood and _fuck fuckfuckcan’tbreathe-_

 

**Our neck.**

 

_no no no no no n non nonononoono nonnnonon non on pleas efuck no-_

 

**Our eyes.**

 

_fuckfuckign ijdfidj no can’tbreathe, please, nonoonono, nono, no, no, no, oh – God._

 

_Oh. I – oh._

 

**_Our mind._ **


	24. Chapter 24

_Warm._

 

Sebastian blinks his eyes open, glances around, clutches with a half-clenched hand at the wall behind him. The air feels warm, now, and he’s in a freezer and oh god _fuck_.

 

He brings a hand up to his face, sucks in a breath.

 

His hand is _white;_ he bends his wrist up, the motion as fluid as ever, but now he can see tiny cracks where his veins should be and-

 

**Calm down.**

 

Sebastian pauses, feeling his heart pause, shivers stuttering down his spine in the ice-air. He lays a hand on the wall behind him, stares at it, can’t stop staring at it.

 

It’s ice, and it feels warm.

 

Sebastian grits his teeth, clenches his eyes shut.

 

_What have you done to me?_

 

**Think of it as an upgrade.**

 

Sebastian scoffs, attempts to stand up, slumps back on the wall. Glances back at his hand.

 

_Upgrade? I’m a freak of nature._

 

**Congratulations.**

 

Sebastian stumbles forward, places his hand against the still-closed freezer door.

 

**Concentrate.**

 

_On what?_

 

A moment passes, and suddenly Sebastian’s hand flattens against the door, pushing and pushing and freezing and cold-burning and-

 

The door shatters.

 

Ice splits, slides as it hits the ground, and Sebastian withdraws his hands. A small _tick_ sounds from the ground behind him, and Sebastian swings his head around, looks down.

 

The ice is moving.

 

Sebastian yells, jumps back in fright-shock as the ice joins another piece, and another, and melds and melts together until it’s roughly the size of his fist, continues shaping into legs and body and a head and stalactite-sharp dagger-teeth and _oh god it’s breathing._

 

**It’s not going to attack you.**

 

Sebastian laughs, loud and clear, echoes it off the walls. His voice cracks as the thing moves closer, and his feet seem frozen.  He’s frozen.

 

_What is it?_

 

He doesn’t hear a reply in his head, but he feels an itching at the bottom of his spine, feels another laugh, a genuine one, genuine amusement cascading up and spilling out and-

 

**_It’s ours._ **

 

Sebastian kneels down, holds his hands out to the creature, a sudden confidence snapping through his veins. The creature moves it’s head up, and Sebastian can’t see any eyes but he can just _feel_ it looking at him, surveying all-cautious, and it occurs to him that maybe it’s more scared than he is.

 

The creature walks forward, towards Sebastian, and nuzzles it’s ice-head against his wrist.

 

It feels warm.

 

Sebastian stands, walks out of the freezer, and the creature follows close behind; he gets about three steps before he remembers why he was in the freezer in the first place.

 

_“You don’t **need** anything, okay?”_

 

_pleasehELpgodchOkingcan’tBReathedYiNG_

 

_“I need this-”_

 

_movingangryfuckshe’sfast, toofast, fuckfuckfUCK_

 

Sebastian coughs, suddenly, feeling the urge to breathe even though he’s already breathing.

 

A new memory snaps through him, and his spine straightens a second before it enters his mind.

 

_“I’m not obligated to do anything for you, Sebastian.”_

 

Sebastian feels a new, fire-rage-hot anger bleed through him, and the creature behind him growls. He growls.

 

**You could do anything.**

 

And Sebastian moves as realization slides through him, enters his bloodstream and he’s at the door in less than a second, and it’s open and he’s walking and running and for once, he knows where he’s going.

 

*

 

It’s dark, and the entire room smells like whiskey. Victor Smythe is half-passed out in his desk chair, and Sebastian can hear his blood. Smell it, feel it from the other side of the office.

 

It’s too easy.

 

Sebastian crosses the room in a quarter-second, and Victor slumps down a little more, and snores, and Sebastian’s hand is an icicle, knife-sharp, butcher-knife-sharp. Victor moves, eyes glinting in their narrow-openness, and Sebastian swings his hand into his stomach. He smiles as Victor’s eyes snap open, and he can feel the white-hot blood swelling and swimming around his hand. He snap-slides it out, and Victor slumps back in his chair and opens his mouth and then Sebastian reaches down, clenches around his neck and everything’s so _hot_ and then Victor’s up against the wall, and Sebastian can feel the voice in his head _hissing._

 

_-gonna kill gonna rip out your heart and **finish him off-**_

 

Sebastian freezes, and his hand freezes, and his father’s neck is ice-white. He smiles again, and drops his hand.

 

He moves back through the house, lets the sound of his father’s desperate-chokes echo through with no intention of stopping them as he wanders to the kitchen, snaps his hand down on the tiled floor and reaches down and pulls out a tiny, silver vial of white liquid and hears the voice in his blood screech in approval.

 

_We can do anything._

 

_*_

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Brittany pauses. “And then I locked him in the freezer.”

 

Blaine sighs, knocks his head back against the wall.

 

“Is there any chance that he…” Santana trails off, and Brittany shrugs, eyes half-watered.

 

“He’s probably dead, yeah.”  Brittany says, blinking too-fast, hands sliding down her forearms.

 

“He might not be,” Blaine urges, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him that this is a good sign, “so we have to go check.”

 

Brittany narrows her lips. “You can if you want, but I highly doubt he’ll-“

 

“-Brittany, I doubted that I’d be alive right now-”

 

“- _and that’s all because of him!”_ Brittany bursts out, suddenly, uncrossing her arms and storming over to Blaine. “Why are you so quick to defend him? Why the ever-loving fuckdo you want to _save_ him?”

 

Blaine glares, feels his palms burn. “Is it that hard to understand why I don’t want to be responsible for someone’s _death,_ Brittany?” He scoffs.

 

“He doesn’t mind killing an innocent person,” she hisses, retracts her hands back to her forearms.

 

“Well apparently, neither do you.” Blaine spits, before he can stop himself.

 

Brittany freezes, staring at the wall behind him. “He tried to kill you. He tried to kill _me.”_ She breathes, hands trembling.

 

Blaine hesitates, blood white-burning. “No-one deserves to die, Brittany.”

 

She lets out a sob as he turns away, heads for his door.

 

“Now,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, “I’m going to go to the bakery.”

 

A moment passes.

 

“If either of you want to join me, then you’re welcome.”

 

He slams the door behind him, blots out the soft sound of Brittany’s crying.

 

*

 

“Sebastian?”

 

Blaine had kicked down the door; he didn’t really have time for etiquette. He glances around as quickly as he can, stepping inside, and _oh._

 

Over in front of the freezer, what Blaine had previously thought to be just a block of ice seemed to be…breathing. It was in the shape of a small cat, purrs rumbling from what seemed to be it’s mouth every few seconds. Blaine goes to back away, reaching behind him, and a small, horrible moment passes where he hears a loud, too-familiar laugh from behind him, feels the chill of a knife at the base of his spine.

 

“You never learn, do you, Anderson?” It’s colder than Blaine expected.

 

“Sebastian,” Blaine breathes, carefully scanning through his brain as to what to say. “I thought you were dead.”

 

“Well, Blaine, we all know that’s your job, right?”

 

Blaine scoffs, even as a shiver runs down his spine. The pressure on his back increases, so he spins around and slams a blue-white-hot hand onto the knife and _oh, it’s his hand._

 

Sebastian hisses, retracts his palm as Blaine back-steps, tries to find a way _away._

 

“What do you want, Sebastian?”

 

Sebastian just laughs again, moving closer, and Blaine is forced to step backwards, towards the still-open freezer.

 

“Just everything that’s mine.” He hisses, still clutching onto his hand. He smiles, sudden and low, and whistles. Blaine hears a small meow from behind him, feels a sharp, stalactite-sting in his ankle, drops to one knee. Sebastian is there within the second, clenching his palm around Blaine’s face too-tight, and Blaine can feel the cold and then too-cold and _ohgodjesusithurts_ cold and his jaw is frozen and his ankle is iced to the ground, too, and he can feel his blood boiling and screaming against the ice but there’s too much, too much-

 

-and then, it stops. Blaine still can’t move, but he can feel the ice melting away, and he can see the scene before him; Sebastian is on the other side of the room, up against the wall, choking like someone’s holding him up but there’s nobody there, at least, nobody that Blaine can see-

 

-the rest of the ice melts away, and Blaine swings himself up onto both feet, hands skitting over his throat and everywhere else they can reach, breathing slowly coming back into time.

 

Sebastian slumps to the floor, and a moment passes before Blaine hears a voice in his head.

 

_You okay?_

 

Blaine hesitates, shrugs. “Better than I expected.”

 

He hears a loud, deep laugh rumble from near Sebastian.

 

_That’s good to know._

 

“Who are you?” Blaine asks, not sure exactly where to direct his words, feeling awfully stupid.

 

There’s silence, and Blaine’s heart skips a beat.

 

“A friend.”

 

And Blaine _swears_ that he knows that voice, and it’s at the back of his mind and he’s reaching back but then the door slams open, and Blaine’s _wait_ ambles halfway out and drops dead on the ice-ground, and the silence suddenly seems a lot lonelier.


	25. Chapter 25

 

By Friday – almost a full week later – Blaine’s forgotten about the invisible figure, for the most part. He’s had assessments, and exams, and one particular French pop quiz where he’d accidentally interpreted _retard_ as _idiot_ (it actually means _late_ – who knew?) and Kurt had turned around in his seat and smile-giggled at him like nobody’s business.

 

“ _Salut, beau,_ ” Kurt says, after class, skipping up behind him, falling into a walk to match Blaine’s pace. “ _Ca va_?”

 

“ _Fatigue.”_ Blaine says, without a second thought.

 

Kurt laughs out loud at that, feet stumbling for a quick-second before rematching Blaine’s. “Is that the only word you know?”

 

Blaine grins, shakes his head. “ _Non_.”

 

“Ooh, fan-cy.” Kurt says, eyes half-teasing. “Go on, then, what else do you know?”

 

Blaine pauses. “ _Je sais que tu pues.”_

 

There’s a moment of awkward silence where Blaine wonders whether or not he’s crossed a line before Kurt lets out a loud half-shriek, half-choke, stops mid-step and curls over towards the ground as his shoulders shake in laughter, and Blaine can help but snort a little at himself.

 

“You – you just – oh my _god,_ Blaine!” Kurt says, in the in-between of his laugher, managing to stand up straight after about a minute, and Blaine takes Kurt’s hand in his and resumes their walking.

 

After a moment, Kurt says, “We didn’t ever learn that in class, Blaine.”

 

“I know.”

 

“So,” Kurt drawls, still smile-teasing, “you specifically looked up how to tell me that I stink in order to insult me?”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

Kurt just shakes his head, lips pressed in a firm line. “Any other soul-burning witty remarks, good sir?”

 

Blaine’s face freezes for a moment, squeezes Kurt’s hand tighter.

 

“Je sais…je t’aime.”

 

Kurt mock-gasps.

 

“Je t’aime beaucoup.”

 

Kurt smiles at him. “Je t’adore.”

 

“Moi aussi.”

 

Kurt grins, corner-dimples widening, and says, “You’re going to _nail_ this test, baby.”

 

They reach the end of the corridor,  and Blaine’s almost in his classroom for last period before Kurt does that adorable run-skip-hopping thing back to him, motioning for Blaine to come forward, so he does, and Kurt asks, “are you still free on Sunday?” and Blaine freezes.

 

“Sunday?” He half-repeats, half-asks.

 

“Yes, Sunday,” Kurt nods, eyeing him cautiously. “For dinner, and meeting my father. And maybe watching _Friends.”_

 

“Oh!” Blaine says, suddenly, like he’s only just remembered, and hasn’t been stressing about it all week. “Yeah, yeah. Sunday is still cool.” His voice cracks upward on the _cool,_ and he tries to cover it with a cough into his hand. “The coolest.”

 

“Okay.” Kurt grins. “I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

 

“You will. On Sunday. The cool day.”

 

“Okay, Blaine.”

 

“Yeah, Sunday.  Dinner. Yeah.”

 

“Go to Math, Blaine.” Kurt pokes his tongue out, turning on his heel to walk back up the corridor.

 

“I love you!” Blaine calls out, and without missing a beat, Kurt turns his head over his shoulder and calls out, “I know that you stink!”

 

*

 

“Hello, Mr Hummel. I’m delighted to – fuck, fuck, _no.”_

 

_You’ve really got to stop talking aloud to your reflection, Blaine._

 

Blaine ignores the voice, repositions himself in front of his mirror, smiling as best he can at himself. “I’m Blaine, it’s nice to meet you.”

 

_That’s good._

 

Blaine’s smile grows wider.

 

_Yeah, yeah. It is._

 

_But you need a different shirt._

 

Blaine looks down at his outfit – a _We Will Rock You_ t-shirt, jeans, sneakers, the latest fashion – and frowns slightly. Looks back at his reflection.

 

He doesn’t look like a moral-threatening, virtue-stealing, no-good punk kid, right? Right?

 

Right.

 

_Right._

 

Blaine sighs, smooths over his hair one last time, grabs his coat and keys and heads out the door.

 

_*_

 

Kurt answers the door, eyes and smile alight, and Blaine lets himself breathe for a moment.

 

“Hey,” Blaine says, almost smoothing over his hair again before stopping himself. Kurt steps back, leaving a space wide enough to Blaine to walk through, and so Blaine does.

 

“How are you?” Kurt asks, timid-soft, obviously trying to gauge the atmosphere.

 

Blaine gulps. “Spectacular.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Kurt half-chuckles, “you’ll be fine, he’s really nice-”

 

“-Kurt?” The voice comes from down the hall, and Blaine takes an instinctive breath.

 

“Come on,” Kurt repeats, hiss-whisper, gesturing down the hallway, and Blaine forces himself to follow.

 

They reach the kitchen, Blaine peering meerkat-eyed around the place as Kurt strides forward, wordlessly hands him a large, empty plate and points through at what must be the living room.

 

Blaine shrugs to himself, manoeuvrers through the half-open door. The room is set out plainly enough; TV front and centre, two loveseats along two separate walls, and a small coffee table in front of the TV, piled with four boxes of pizza.

 

Blaine can’t help but to smile at that

 

*

 

A good fifteen minutes later, Blaine is just starting to settle into the night; he’s made a few good jokes, complimented the meal, not thrown up on anyone’s shoes. It’s going well, and a comfortable, slight-awkward silence has overtaken the room.

 

“So, Blaine,” Burt says, coughs.

 

Blaine’s heart stops. “Yes?”

 

Burt’s standing up, moving towards the kitchen and beckoning to Blaine. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

 

“Dad,” Kurt says, warning-tense.

 

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Blaine says, moving to get up, following Burt. “I’ll be back soon, promise.”

 

Kurt slouches back into the couch as the pair leaves the room.

 

_Well, at least he’s being honest._

Blaine and Burt have been sitting on the outside patio for a solid five minutes before Burt starts.

“I don’t want to come across like an asshole, but I gotta ask about your intentions with my son.”

Blaine hisses out a breath through his teeth, presses his lips together. “I…don’t really have any, to be honest,” he answers, eyes glued to the pavement.

Burt nods slowly. “It’s just that – well, after Sebastian – he’s been kind of vulnerable, and I can’t really help him if I don’t know what’s going on,” he says, carefully pacing his words. “I’m sorry if I offend you, kid, but I…I can’t trust you. Not yet.”

Blaine’s heart drops, but he manages to hold his face somewhat respectively. Nods.

“Hey, kid, look at me.”

Blaine makes his head raise, almost-instinctively clenches his teeth at the guilty look on Burt’s face. “Yes, sir?”

“Nu-uh, I don’t want any of that _sir_ crap,” Burt says, voice becoming slightly harsher. “You call me Burt, okay?”

Blaine nods, slow and cautious, like Burt’s going to chop his head off if he gets too enthusiastic.

“Blaine, you’ve got to see that I’m only trying to protect Kurt, right?”

“Yeah, I can,” Blaine says, voice almost-wavering. “I can see that.”

He can almost feel the sadness in the air around him.

“I have his best interests at heart.”

Blaine nods, once.

“And I don’t want him to get hurt again,” Burt continues, “which is why I don’t think a relationship is a good idea right now.”

Blaine goes numb.

“Oh.”

Burt nods, seeming regretful, but not regretful enough to take back what he’s said. “You seem like a great guy, Blaine, but Kurt is first priority.”

Blaine shuts his eyes and tries to press out the world, and then he opens them, and Burt is gone.

A moment passes, and then within three seconds the back door is open, Blaine walking through the kitchen with his heart exploding into needles and the biggest lump in the world in his throat and eyes damming up, he leans into the living room, tries not to look at Kurt, croakily thanks everyone for the _lovely_ night and leaves as quickly as he can, out the door and cold air and _breathe breathe breathe-_

God, he can feel himself _bleeding,_ seeping out like blood and warm air and water through damp wood, bits and pieces of his misery drifting up and out into the night.

He’s through his own door too-quick, and then it’s locked and he’s walking too-slow to his room and slumping face-first into his bed and just sobbing, before his phone beeps.

_Are you okay?_

It’s from Kurt – of course it’s from Kurt.

Kurt Hummel; head Cheerio, kind soul to all, gay rights supporter and owner of Blaine’s _heart_.


	26. Chapter 26

_Are you okay?_

 

Kurt had read over the same text five times before sending it, and now he’s hastily checking his phone every few seconds, the screen showing up no reply.

 

He waits for another minute, sends another text.

 

_It’s just that you left pretty fast._

 

Another minute passes.

 

_Blaine, what’s going on?_

 

Kurt drops his phone onto his chest, slow-leans backwards into his computer chair before he hears the _beep_ of a reply.

 

_I’m okay, I promise._

 

A moment passes, another text.

 

_But we need to talk._

 

Kurt gulps, hands shaking-but-determined as he picks up his phone and hits _Call._

 

It takes Blaine a solid minute to pick up, and Kurt knows he’s close enough to his phone to answer more quickly, and there’s a horrid, gnawing feeling in his stomach and his veins that he refuses to acknowledge.

 

“You want to talk?” Kurt says, more snappily than he intended, the second Blaine picks up. “Then talk to me.”

 

“Kurt – Kurt-” Blaine cuts off, and Kurt thinks he can hear the distant, underwater-unclear sound of crying, “can you come over?”

 

“Didn’t you just leave?”

 

“I know, I know, it’s stupid – god, I’m so _stupid-”_

 

“-hey, hey,” Kurt interrupts, voice growing softer, “you’re not stupid.”

 

A moment passes.

 

“I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”

 

All Kurt can hear is ragged, tear-soaked breathing.

 

“Okay.”

 

*

 

When Blaine opens the door, he looks a mess; hair stress-rumpled, face shining-wet, and his eyes glinting like – well, like Blaine’s seeing Kurt for the first and last time all at once.

 

“Hey,” Kurt half-laughs, cautious, and Blaine doesn’t speak, moves to the side so Kurt can move inside.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Blaine sits down on his lounge, and Kurt wordlessly sits next to him.

 

“Your dad talked to me,” Blaine starts, nasally hopeless.

 

“Oh?” Kurt feels the worry grow a little larger.

 

Blaine pauses. “After what happened with Sebastian, it’s not – I don’t think-”

 

And then, suddenly, the realization of what Blaine’s about to say hits Kurt, like the first drop of rain before a disastrous thunderstorm.

 

“-Don’t you _dare_ start that with me, Blaine,” Kurt snaps, everything falling into place far too fast. “He already tried that with me, before you came over, before he even _considered_ meeting you-”

 

“-don’t berate me, Kurt,” Blaine says, frustratingly calm, “I know what I’m doing-”

 

“-and so do I!” Kurt stands up from the lounge, faces Blaine. “I love you! I want to be with you because I _love_ you, can’t you see that?”

 

Blaine huffs a laugh under his breath, and Kurt freezes. “Why are you laughing?”

 

When Blaine looks up to meet his eyes, he looks sadder than Kurt’s ever seen him.

 

“Because you’re lying, and it’s easier to laugh about it than it is to actually think about it,” he says, quiet, but the room is so quiet that it’s the loudest thing Kurt’s ever heard.

 

“What am I lying about?” Kurt can feel his voice, himself getting harsher and harsher.

 

Blaine scoffs. “You don’t love me-”

 

“-of course I-”

 

“-you love Sebastian, Kurt,” Blaine says, voice tearful-strained, “and even if you don’t, you _did,_ for so long. You can’t stop loving someone that quickly, Kurt. You need _time_ , and space,” Blaine’s voice cracks, “and the absolute _last_ thing that you need-”

 

“-don’t-”

 

“-is a relationship.” Blaine says, forcing it out, stumbling over the finish line, panting for breath.

 

“Why?” Kurt asks, eyes watering, not letting himself blink too much. “It’s my life, my emotions, why don’t I get to choose?”

 

“I’m sorry-”

 

“-why are you doing this?” Kurt sobs, suddenly, chest heaving  and too-heavy, and then Blaine’s chest wants to heave too, and all Blaine wants to do is stop the tears, hold Kurt to his ribcage and tell him that they’ll be happy and perfect but he _can’t._

 

“Because you need-”

 

“I need _you,_ Blaine, more than I need space or time or anything else,” Kurt’s face is a rainstorm, “and I really thought you got that.”

 

Blaine pauses, considering, wants to throw up. “You don’t need _me,_ Kurt.”

 

A moment passes.

 

He breathes, tries to keep his voice from wavering. “You need love.”

 

Kurt tenses up, and Blaine can feel Kurt’s stress in his bones.

 

“I can’t give you that-”

 

“-are you saying you don’t love me?” Kurt says, too-quiet, small, a surrender in a question.

 

_Kill me oh god just fucking drop me off a cliff and shoot me now let me die let me die i hate myselfgodfuckkillme-_

 

“Yes.”

 

A pin drops, and then Kurt shakes his head, opens his mouth, closes his mouth, sobs, and walks out the door.

 

Blaine counts to ten, lets himself drop to the floor, lets the anger and the misery and the shock surge through him, and just sobs.

 

*

 

Sebastian feels electric.

 

The ice creature has grown far bigger than Sebastian ever expected – it’s head reaches Sebastian’s hipbone when he stands, and it’s teeth are as big and sharp as frozen syringes – and while he does find it slightly intimidating at times, it hasn’t so much as touched him without him initiating the contact. He bends down, now, lets his fingers ice-slide against the side of its head. It never feels cold to him, and neither does anything that’s supposed to be cold, and he can’t make sense of it. He can’t make sense of any of it.

 

**So.**

 

Sebastian freezes; he’s not exactly scared of the voice, not anymore, but it’s still more than a little unnerving to have another entity in your head. Or to be going insane.

 

_…so._

 

Sebastian sits on the ground, crosses his legs underneath him – he’s been sitting in the bakery (a mess of ice and metal and flour) ever since Blaine left, since the attack from the invisible, too-tight hands that rendered him weaker than he liked to acknowledge.

 

**We’ve been here for a while.**

 

Sebastian grimaces internally – this is one of the reasons why he isn’t scared of the voice.

 

_And?_

 

It _annoys_ him, more than he thought it could.

 

**We have powers.**

 

Sebastian doesn’t respond.

 

**Aren’t you going to do something?**

 

_Like what?_

 

**Get what you want, maybe?**

 

And then Sebastian can feel the cold again, can feel chills stuttering and sliding down his spine like fingertips made from ice, but he’s still not exactly _scared._ He knows he should be, but he’s not.

 

_I don’t know what I want._

 

**You do.**

 

Scoff.

 

_What do I want?_

 

**You want what’s yours, Sebastian. Ours.**

 

It takes a second for everything to snap into place, like the first strike of lightning before a thunderstorm.

 

**_Kurt._ **

 

And then Sebastian’s laughing, laughing so hysterically because it’ll be so _easy,_ god, how didn’t he see it before? He can make Kurt see it, he knows he can, **_they_** can.

 

He is Kurt’s, and Kurt is his.

 

Kurt will see.


	27. Chapter 27

“Blaine?”

It’s too early to be at school, Blaine knows, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He glances sideways, half-smiles at Brittany. “Hi.”

Her face cracks into a smile, and she dawdles closer, sits on the cold step next to him.

“I missed you.”

Blaine gulps, meets her eyes. “I missed you too, Brit.”

She smiles softer, rests her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about Kurt.”

“It’s for the best, right?” Blaine asks.

Brittany shrugs, her shoulder half-bumping Blaine’s. “That all depends on what the best is, Blaine Warbler.”

A moment passes.

“Sebastian wasn’t dead.”

“Oh?”

Blaine nods. “Yeah, and he’s got powers too.”

Brittany curses under her breath. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“Is he really that much of a threat?” Blaine asks. “I mean, he does have a giant ice-monster at his disposal, but is he really going to do anything with it?”

“He tried to kill you before, Blaine.” Brittany says, eyes skitting back-forth across the early morning pavement. “Who’s to say he wouldn’t do it again?”

Blaine pauses. “Is there any way we could stop him without killing him?”

“We don’t even know if he has anything planned yet.”

“Yeah, but in the case that he does?”

“Oh,” Brittany says, “no.”

Blaine hesitates. “Is there anything that you could do with that mind thing? Couldn’t you make him forget?”

Brittany sighs. “Blaine, the one memory I showed you almost made me pass out, and you were willing; I’m not nearly powerful enough to get into his head, let alone forget.”

A moment passes, and Brittany sounds too-small when she speaks.

“If I did manage to erase his memory,” she gulps, “it would kill me.”

“Well, that’s off the cards,” Blaine says, fast, snappy. “You’re not dying, Brittany.”

She half-smiles, nodding. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

Brittany blinks, and Blaine is standing up, holding out his hand. “Let’s get to class early, yeah?”

Brittany lights up, takes his hand. “Friends?”

“Best friends.”

*

It’s just halfway through second period that Blaine hears the first screams, the solid, sure _thump_ of something heavy collapsing. A small part of him wants to groan and just stay put like the teacher says, but, as a terrified student screeches while rushing into the sanctuary of his classroom, _“There’s an ice monster in the hallway!”,_ and being a fire superhero, he can’t really ignore that.

Sliding into the corridor, he glances up and down it a few times, more screams from the right, runs to the right, skids around the corner and-

Oh.

Where the front doors to the school stood unproudly less than an hour ago, there is nothing but a giant gap in the brick and cement of the building. Blaine can feel his blood boiling, getting hotter with every passing second, and he can’t bother to try to calm himself as he fast-paces in front of the gap, eyes dancing over everywhere.

A moment passes.

“You,” Blaine yells, “are such a _jerk,_ Sebastian!”

A growl echoes from behind him, and Blaine turns to see the aforementioned ice monster crouching far too close to him, standing far too tall.

“Pity,” says Sebastian, and Blaine doesn’t know whether he should be facing him or the ice monster. “Because I’m totally doing this to get you to like me.”

Blaine huffs a breath out through his nose. “Are you even trying to be subtle anymore?”

“No.”

_-bloodisfirebloodisfirebloodisfire-_

“Why are you doing this, then?” Blaine asks, and he swears he can feel himself glowing red-hot; he can feel the rage flowing through him, through his veins, to his head, to his hands.

“Because I can.”

Blaine snaps, hands exploding into red and heat and-

_Oh my fucking god shit._

He’s holding a fireball.

Sebastian lets out a gasp, and Blaine throws the fireball forward, hitting the ice monster square in the face, and he’s up against the wall, ice-vice grip around his throat.

“You really think,” Sebastian asks, “that you can stop me?”

Blaine slams his hand against Sebastian’s wrist, heat and fire and Sebastian drops his hand, steps back as though he’s been stung, stabbed, burnt.

Blaine smiles, panting. “I know I can.”

Sebastian scowls, lurches for Blaine but he’s gone, on the other side of the room and hands red-hot again and then a fireball and Sebastian’s curving out of the way and the room suddenly goes much, much blurrier than Blaine thought it could, spinning away and Blaine’s standing in the gap where the doors used to be, warm daylight almost-cold on his back, hands frozen before him, boiling, Sebastian shooting icicles towards him and they’re melting _oh my god I am literally melting ice in seconds oh my god._

Sebastian pauses, and then he’s gone, and Blaine runs back into the school, down the hall and sends every bit of heat he can feel towards his hands, and it’s out and bigger than Blaine expected but hey, he’s not complaining.

There’s a growl from down the hallway, and Blaine drops the fireball, lets it explode around him, stares forward.

There’s two ice monsters, both half the size of the first one, and Blaine’s heart stops.

No, it literally stops for a second, because Sebastian’s behind him and his hand is on his back in a chillingly familiar manner and then Blaine’s skin is stinging, solid and cold and _he’s freezing you, fuck, fuck-_

The cold-pressure stops a second later, and he whirls around to see Sebastian stumbling not a foot away from him, Kurt standing in between them both.

His heart bursts back into heat a second later, and he slumps against the locker, and that’s when he notices the crowd. What must be almost the entire school is at the end of the hall, peering cautiously around the corner like meerkats, and a small part of Blaine sighs internally as Kurt whirls around.

_So much for the secret identity, then._

*

It’s second period when Kurt first hears the screams, the teacher looking half-worried as she ushers them underneath their desks, shuts the blinds, curls up underneath her own.

The thud comes a solid five minutes later, and nobody manages to stay inside after that. Tina is first to the door, soft-clicking it open and peering out into the hallway and letting out a gasp, twirling back around and shutting the door behind her.

“Ice monster.”

“ _What_?” Kurt hisses, crawl-stand-tiptoeing towards her.

“ _There’s an ice monster in the hallway,_ ” she says, teeth, fingers clenched.

“Tina, what-”

“-you are such a _jerk,_ Sebastian!”

Kurt freezes, stumble-runs towards the door, whirls his head around the corner. A few students are standing in the half-alcoves placed around the hallway, and Kurt runs behind one of them, skids to a halt.

“Ice monster?” he questions, breathless, heart ramming like a wild bull against his ribcage.

“Ice monster,” she confirms, not turning around, “and the fight of the century.”

Kurt can see it now, at the end of the hall, breathing, moving, growling like a tiger, shining in the cheap lighting.

“Fight of the century?”

She goes to answer, but the moment she opens her mouth, a large ball of fire smacks into the ice monster, balling it over.

A too-quiet moment passes.

“Shit,” is all Kurt can gasp out, eyes blinking, widening.

“I know,” she replies, and then there’s another smash at the end of the hallway, like they needed a reason to re-focus. Two flashes of red and white-blue are speeding around at the top of the corridor, gradually smashing their way down towards Kurt, and then the blue one disappears, and the red one is condensing into a human shape and black shirt and red pants and Kurt swears he knows him but the blue flash reappears behind him, and Kurt’s heart drops in a too-familiar plunge.

It’s Sebastian, holding his hand to the boy’s back like a butcher knife and he’s tensing up, not fighting back and Kurt’s moving forward more quickly than he thinks is physically possible and shoving his entire body weight against Sebastian and he’s stumbling and the boy is stumbling and Kurt’s glaring, angry-terrified at Sebastian and spinning to _oh my god._

Slouching full-bodied against a locker, glowing red-hot, is Blaine Anderson.

*

The hallway is in disarray, lockers half-melted, half-frozen, paper and crumbled brick everywhere, and Blaine looks up to stare at Kurt, can’t bring himself to look away.

Kurt opens his mouth, looking somewhere between confused and terrified, and falls forward. Sebastian stands behind him, shaking off his first and smiling devil-smug to himself, stepping towards Blaine, and then he’s up against the wall, choking from an invisible grip.

Blaine wheezes, pushes himself up but then a chill like a frozen lake at midnight pushes through his back, through his heart, ribcage, through his skin and out and he looks down and _fuck fuck fUCK AH JESUS CHRIST GOD NO FUCK FUck-_

There’s an icicle protruding from his chest like a gravestone, red that’s less fire and more blood glowing around it, seeping out, he can feel it everywhere, he can’t _breathe-_

The icicle removes itself from his chest, and Blaine falls like a human ragdoll to the floor, head landing next to Kurt’s, barely managing to let out a wheeze as Kurt’s head is moved, taken from his peripheral vision and up, up and his eyes follow up, up into blackness, and a strange buzzing, and it’s not that cold, it doesn’t hurt that much, not really-

_“Blaine!”_

-and _ohgod, it hURTS it really hurts, like his veins are being stitched back in by hand-_

_“Blaine, can you hear me!? BLAINE!?”_

- _his heart is toohot, blood toohot, everything’s burning up like a firework-_

Blaine opens his eyes.

There’s a figure above him, but it’s all shapes and buzzing, and Blaine wheezes in a breath _sweetlordshit_ and it’s like he’s been underwater for a decade, can barely remember how to breathe but he does it anyway-

“Blaine?”

The figure is clearer now, focusing into hair and nose and eyes and-

A too-quiet moment of awkward passes, and Blaine speaks.

“Cooper?”


	28. Chapter 28

His brother is crying, panting out sobs of relief as he kisses all over Blaine’s forehead, half-shove-pulls him into a sitting position.

 

“What,” Blaine wheezes, “the _fuck?”_

 

“You’re okay, jesus, _fuck-”_

 

“-why are you here, what,” Blaine interrupts, repeats, “what the _fuck?”_

 

Cooper’s grinning, eyes shining with tears. “I have powers.”

 

Blaine is about to wheeze out a third _what_ when he hears a sound alike to screeching, hears two sets of footsteps come stampeding down the hall.

 

“ _BLAINE!”_

 

It’s Brittany, throwing herself down beside him and Santana a second later and everyone’s crying and “fuck, fuck,” Brittany says, panting, “you almost _died,_ you _idiot,_ oh my god-”

 

Blaine’s brain takes a second longer to thump heavily against his skull, and then everything’s flashing back, Sebastian, ice monster, Kurt-

 

“Where’s Kurt?” he says, suddenly, clearer than before.

 

“Sebastian took him,” Santana answers, voice venomous.

 

“Let’s go, then,” Blaine says, and Cooper shakes his head.

 

“I am _not_ letting you anywhere near that stupid fucking asshole of a super-villain again-”

 

Blaine shoves himself to stand, half-wincing, gritting his teeth. “I’m going to save him.”

 

“I need to protect you-”

 

“-then come with me,” Blaine snaps, head pounding, “but you’re not stopping me.”

 

Cooper glares, looks away. “Fine.”

 

“We’re coming too,” Brittany and Santana say simultaneously, rushing to the front of Blaine’s vision.

 

“Yeah?” Cooper questions, looking suspiciously at the both of them.

 

A moment passes.

 

“Yeah,” Blaine says, loudly, half to the still-peering crowd at the end of the hallway, half to himself, “let’s go kick some fucking _ass!”_

 

_*_

 

Kurt’s underwater-drowsy, everything fuzz-buzzing around the edges, light vibrating into clear memory and clearer vision; he’s being carried, limbs slouching down in front of him, figure lazily hanging over a shoulder. Sebastian’s shoulder.

 

Kurt tenses up, blinks too much, tries to remember through the haze.

 

“S-Sebastian?” he questions, too quietly to really be considered speech.

 

“Yes, baby?”

 

Kurt tenses up more, impossibly stiff, and breathes as calmly as he can. “What’s going on?” He knows what’s going on, but he has to say something, has to make Sebastian talk.

 

There’s a heartbeat of horrifying silence before Sebastian replies. “You love me.”

 

It’s a statement, not a question, not an inch for budging or negotiating and Kurt wants to throw up at the cold finality in Sebastian’s voice; he doesn’t sound scared or curious or _alive_.

 

Kurt can feel his heart pounding, and he can’t think, and he can feel his bones trembling, so he repeats, “Sebastian?”

 

“You love me, Kurt,” he says, hand sliding up onto Kurt’s shoulder and squeezing in what’s probably supposed to be a reassuring manner, but all Kurt wants to do is shake him off and run.

 

Kurt gulps. “I love you.”

 

The footsteps stop, and relief washes over Kurt _._

 

“What?”

 

“I love you,” Kurt repeats, before he can let himself back out.

 

“Really?” Sebastian says, and he sounds smaller, but happier, if by only a little bit.

 

“Really,” Kurt says, sounding as genuine as he can. He feels Sebastian shudder against him, letting Kurt slide off him a little before he lets him drop to the ground, and Kurt gasps; it’s cold, so cold that it feels like he’s sitting on _ice._

 

Kurt opens his eyes, tries not to look at Sebastian, quick-glances across the room until he finally registers his surroundings; he’s in a building, walls decorated with bright colours and pictures of pies and cakes and Kurt can’t help but gasp quietly to himself.

 

It’s the bakery, Brittany’s bakery; he’s only been here once or twice, but there’s nowhere in Lima that’s this intentionally colourful. Kurt looks down, re-gasps – every inch of the floor is ice, and it’s not just covering it; it’s like the floor has literally been frozen.

 

Kurt pauses, shakes his head clear, winces at the immediate throb. “Why did you take me to the bakery?”

 

Sebastian doesn’t respond, so Kurt looks up at him, has about a second’s warning before Sebastian’s kissing him, making him lean back on one elbow as he tries to stay calm, kiss back as convincingly as he can.

 

Sebastian pulls back after a second, stares at Kurt, searches with his eyes. “I’m going to make you see,” he whispers.

 

_Oh my god and you thought he was fucking psychotic before._

 

Kurt breathes deep, opens his mouth to reply but there’s a sudden, sharp pain in his neck, spiking up to his skull and he silently gasps, eyes watering. He sees Sebastian pull a needle from his neck, toss it aside, watching Kurt like a hawk all the while.

 

There’s a sudden flare of heat in his neck, searing up the side and across his face and burningburning _burning-_

 

Kurt falls onto his back, head hitting the ice floor like a hammer on a nail, and groan-whines at the pain. “Sebastian,” he says, panting, “what are you doing?”

 

Sebastian leans forward, a chillingly calm smile on his face, and giggles. “I’m not psychotic, Kurt,” he says, and Kurt’s blood runs cold through the heat.

 

“What-” Kurt manages to choke out, but Sebastian interrupts.

 

“There will be plenty of time for questions after, baby-”

 

“- _don’t_ fucking call me that,” Kurt spits, attempt to drag himself backwards, feels his entire left side flare up.

 

“I’m going to make you see, Kurt,” Sebastian growls, crouching closer, and Kurt can’t breathe. “You love me.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Kurt pants, god, _fuck,_ he’s on _fire._

 

“You’ll see, Kurt,” Sebastian whispers, and he’s less than an inch away now, slowly standing taller, tall as a tree, a skyscraper, a _monster_.

 

“What’s happening to me?” Kurt sobs out, stops trying to move away, just lying there, trying to regain his breath, his sanity, he’s lying on ice and there’s an inferno in his blood.

 

Sebastian doesn’t reply, leans down and lifts Kurt over his shoulder with as little effort as he would with a ragdoll. Kurt feels himself slump, hears a distant, ominous _squeak_ of a door, feels himself drop to the ground, and everything is much, much colder than before, and Sebastian’s standing in front of him.

 

“I love you,” he whispers, slams the room into darkness, and Kurt is crying, panting, boiling.

 

*

 

“Why are we going to a bakery again?” Cooper questions.

 

“Because Sebastian’s there,” Brittany replies, peering around a corner, sighing to herself. “Blazer, you’ve got some fans,” she whispers to Blaine, gesturing behind the same corner. Blaine peers around, huffs angrily; what must be the entire student body is following the four of them.

 

_Why?_

 

Brittany shrugs and Blaine swings around the corner, slams his fist against the building in front of him, watches as the entire wall falls to pieces, points at it and screams, “ _FUCK OFF!”_ as loudly as he can. The crowd scatters, and Blaine hears Cooper chuckle lightly behind him. The mood stays relatively light-hearted until Santana appears before them, shaking out her limbs and looking panicked.

 

“We have to move,” is all she says, and then she’s off and running. Blaine, Cooper and Brittany speed after her, and everything’s a blur, and then all Blaine can hear is screaming, and he feels hot but it’s not him, he can control it now, it’s not _him-_

 

They slam to a stop in front of the bakery, and Brittany gasps.

 

“What is it?” Blaine demands, circling around her as Cooper and Santana ram against the door.

 

“Kurt,” she chokes out, “he’s – he can’t breathe-”

 

The door snaps open behind him and Blaine spins, rushes through, ignores Brittany’s cries of warning before the door slams shut behind him again, and then everyone’s screaming.

 

Blaine’s up against the wall, a smiling Sebastian in his face and he’s cold, too cold and dropping to his feet as Blaine feels himself glowing hot, hears Sebastian hiss and slams his palm openly against his face, watches Sebastian scream too.

 

He distantly hears the door slam open again, sees three figures rush through and then Sebastian’s on the ground, Cooper straddling his chest and hands locked vice-tight around his throat and squeezing and pressing and killing, and Blaine’s never seen his brother that angry before.

 

He rushes over to the freezer, slams his hands onto the death-cold metal and _glows_ and it’s melting and sliding apart and Blaine could almost cry from relief, tearing apart whatever doesn’t drip away and tearing away the whole door and then his heart stops.

 

Kurt’s ice-white, little flicks of frost on his skin and hair; he’s not moving.

 

Blaine rushes in, scoops him up as carefully as he can and steps back, lays him down on the ground and just _looks_.

 

“Kurt?” he asks, voice cracking as his eyes flood, “Kurt?”

 

 Kurt doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Blaine lets out a slow sob that tears through the room, pausing everyone, and reaches up his hand to rest over Kurt’s heart.

 

There’s no heartbeat, no pulse, no blood in him, _nothing_ and Blaine’s so _angry,_ he’s an inferno and a boy made of fire instead of skin-and-bone and he’s boiling, boiling, burning and the glow from his hand spikes into Kurt’s skin, flaring across him, spreading down through him and Blaine can _see_ his ribcage and lungs and heart and-

 

_Thump._

 

Blaine howls, because he saw it, saw Kurt’s heart move but it’s like his arm’s being torn off, stretching and breaking and he presses down, breaks the ribcage and just touches his hand to his heart.

 

Kurt gasps, and Blaine flings himself back, watching like a hawk. “Kurt?”

 

Kurt’s still panting, but he looks over, stares at him. “Blaine?”

 

Blaine grins, sobbing, slides forward and cups his cheeks and kisses him, fast and tender and _fuck-_

 

“I love you, Kurt Hummel,” he whimpers as he breaks away, snot and tears painting his face.

 

“I love you too,” Kurt whispers, voice scratchy-quiet.

 

A loud bang sounds from across the room, and they both look up in time to see the roof caving in, hear the sharp, panicked scream of, “ _Brittany!”_

 

_*_

 

The door’s open and Kurt’s out but something’s wrong but Blaine’s got it, Santana knows, true love or something can fix it, right?

 

There’s a shout from behind her, and Cooper’s on his back, and Sebastian’s gone, and Santana freezes.

 

“Where is he?” she asks quietly, half-panicked, looking from Cooper to Brittany, who’s carefully observing on the other side of the room. She shrugs, and Santana almost lets herself breathe before she hears it.

 

A loud bang, directly above Brittany and Brittany scoots backwards, presses herself against the wall, and Santana can almost hear her thinking but before anyone can move the ceiling cracks, and Santana can see the roof caving and Brittany moves but it’s a second too late and-

 

“ _Brittany!”_


	29. Chapter 29

It’s been three hours, and Santana can’t stop crying.

_It’s an avalanche of plaster and pipes and brick as Cooper’s arms fasten around Santana, pull her away, out of the bakery, and everyone’s screaming and Santana’s fighting and yelling and desperate and **no** -_

The ambulances arrived a few minutes after the bakery collapsed; somebody from the school must have called them. The police arrived soon after, and began to tape off the area, and that’s when Santana lost it all over again.

_“No!” she shrieks, breaking away from Cooper, sprinting towards the scene. “There’s still people in there-"_

_“-Santana,” says Blaine from behind her, and she can hear him running up behind her, voice too sympathetic, too small, and Santana pretends that she doesn’t hear him._

_“You have to search the rubble,” she begs, bites the inside of her lip. “Please.”_

_The policeman watches her for a moment. “M’am, all you’re going to find in that rubble is bodies.”_

_Santana lurches forward, shoving the policeman aside, breaking through the tape and dropping to her knees in the middle of the clutter._

“Santana?” comes a half-quiet, tired voice from beside her. She looks at Cooper, looks back at the ground.

“I wanted to say sorry.”

“Why?”

She hears Cooper gulp. “If I’d kept a tighter grip on Sebastian-”

“- _don’t_ ,” she interrupts, “don’t you  _dare_ blame yourself for this.”

_Santana’s trying to lift the pieces by herself, and it’s working, hands growing bloodier and sorer with every passing second but she doesn’t care about her hands; she needs to find Brittany. She needs to find Brittany._

_Warm hands enclose around one of her wrists, snap her to a stop, and her shoulders drop. “Santana-” Blaine cuts himself off, tugging her wrist towards his body, lets her fall like a cut-strings puppet._

_Santana breathes in, wet and loud and pathetic, and lets out a sob._

It’s been three hours, and Santana can’t stop crying.

*

Even though Kurt insisted that he was fine, he felt great, he felt  _super,_ both Blaine and Cooper made the paramedics check him out, and the paramedics insisted that he go to the ER.

So, here Blaine is, sitting next to Kurt’s hospital bed, watching him sleep, rubbing his still-pale hand in some attempt to at least keep that part of him warm.

Burt and Finn had arrived first, Finn glaring at Blaine for a solid five minutes before Burt excused himself to go get some coffee, glancing a warning at Finn, an apology at Blaine.

A moment passes.

“He really likes you, you know.”

Blaine smiles too-hard. “I really like him too.”

Finn squints. “Why did you break up with him, then?”

Blaine shrugs unconvincingly. “We both weren’t ready for a relationship.”

Finn huffs, looks at Blaine. “Really?”

“Really.” Blaine swallows.

“So you’re not some douchebag out to break my brother’s heart?”

Blaine shakes his head, and Finn smiles.

A moment passes before Blaine holds up a glowing hand, looks over to Finn. “Ever heard of Spiderman 2?”

“Yeah,” Finn says slowly, cautiously, stares at Blaine’s hand. “What about it?”

“That one scene at the end where that giant ball thing is consuming, like, the entire town?”

Blaine watches Finn inhale carefully, still staring at his hand like it’s going to explode. “Yeah?”

A small fireball bursts into the middle of Blaine’s hand, no bigger than a tennis ball. Finn screams and falls back off his chair.

“Well,” says a high, angel-lilting voice from beside him, “you certainly made him scream louder than Rachel ever did.”

Blaine grins, turns to see Kurt, cheeks slightly rosy, hair an unkempt mess, dimples scrunched up in a laugh-smile, and his heart swells.

“You’re awake,” Blaine says softly, and Kurt’s smile grows.

“And you,” he replies, “are a superhero.”

Blaine laughs, nods. “Guilty as charged.”

“Wait, wait,” Finn interrupts, “a  _superhero?”_

A moment passes.

“Go on, Mister Fahrenheit,” Kurt says.

Blaine glances to Kurt, looks at Finn, huffs out a small breath through his nose.

“Well, it all started when I almost died…”

*

By the time Burt gets back, Blaine’s only told half the story, and it’s incredibly amusing to watch Finn’s interpretation being told back to Burt.

“Blaine?”

Blaine turns towards the door, and his heart leaps up to his throat. “Hey, Coop.”

Cooper pauses. “I need to talk to you.”

Blaine sighs as Kurt gives a slight-worried look, rises from his seat, follows Cooper out the door. They keep walking until they reach a small café near the room, and they both take a seat near the wall.

A moment passes.

“So,” Blaine starts, “what did you want to talk to me about?”

Cooper bites his lip. “You deserve an explanation.”

“For what?”

“For me being a dick.”

“Oh,” Blaine says, less surprised than he expected. “Yeah, I do.”

“Blaine,” Cooper starts, “I moved to New York for a law degree, you know that, right?”

Blaine nods. “You hated it, because you wanted to continue studying science.”

“I loved Science, and I kept experimenting with things, and well – long story short, I kind of blew up my school’s lab, and…”

“And it made you a superhero?”

Cooper hesitates. “No, it just got me kicked out of college.”

Blaine sighs. “Continue?”

“So, I was walking back to my apartment and wondering what the fuck to do with my life when this guy jumps out of nowhere, asks for my valuables and wallet and I’m like ‘fuck you, I’m poor,’ and then he stabs me and takes my stuff anyway,” Cooper huffs, still apparently annoyed at his near-death experience. “Then I’m lying in the middle of some alleyway in New York, bleeding to my death, and this lady appears above me and shoves a needle into my neck, and the only thing I can think is  _what the fuck,_ and then I pass out.”

Blaine stares. “And then?” He asks, voice a little too high.

“Sue Sylvester,” Cooper says. “That’s who it was.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow. “She’s the person who-”

“Gave you your powers?”

Blaine shuts his mouth. “Yes.”

“Hey, me too!” Cooper jokes. “I woke up, she told me that I was a freak of nature and sent me on my way.” Cooper pauses, smile fading a little. “The second I heard that you were in hospital, I called and got her to inject you as well; only, she gave you the wrong one.”

“What?”

“Bet you one morning you woke up feeling like a housefire, right?” Cooper grimaces.

Blaine blinks. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t the right one. Sue called me a few days after, and all she told me was that you had to get real angry, real fast.” Cooper looks at the wall, away from Blaine. “From what I can tell, it worked.”

“That call,” Blaine swallows, “you purposely made me angry.”

“In order to save your life,” Cooper adds.

Blaine shakes his head. “Wow.”

“So, now you know.”

Blaine nods, and Cooper nods. They both stand, walk out of the café. The second they leave, Blaine pulls Cooper into a tight hug, head squashing up against his ribcage.

“I missed you, Coop,” Blaine says, plainly, breath brushing against Cooper’s shirt. “A lot.”

“I missed you too, Squirt,” Cooper says, quieter than Blaine’s ever heard him.

*

_Six months later_

“Blue or green?”

Blaine looks up, half-dazed, blinks at Kurt blankly. “Hmm?”

Kurt huffs. “Which shirt, Blaine?”

Blaine pauses. “Nobody’s going to see it, baby; we’re all wearing the same gown.”

Kurt drops the shirts on Blaine’s bed, slouches his shoulders, turns to face his boyfriend. “But it’s  _graduation.”_

In the six months since the majority of Ohio (and surprisingly, the world) uncovered the not-so-mystery of Blazer’s identity, a lot has changed for the both of them. The amount of ‘professional photographers’ randomly turning up at his crime-fighting escapades went from zero to roughly half the population of Lima within the first week, and although Blaine did thrive from the attention at first, it quickly became less glamorous and more get-the-fuck-out-of-my-face-I’m-covered-in-blood-and-sweat.

The crime rate did rise significantly higher within that first month, but it drooped once the criminals – real or fake – realized that the  _almighty_  Blazer could take them out in a matter of seconds, and that their time would imminently be wasted. Now, six months after – as Kurt refers to it – the Sebastian incident 2.0, Lima’s crime department is little more than a ghost.

Blaine ponders for a second. “Blue.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm, it brings out your eyes,” Blaine adds, smiling. “Even though nobody’s going to see it.”

Kurt grins at him, slides his current shirt off and lays it carefully on Blaine’s bed. Blaine’s eyes widen as Kurt stretches back up, shoulder muscles taught and toned, and presses his lips together in a firm line. Kurt turns to glance at him, eyes alight with something new-familiar, and turns away again, and then Blaine’s behind him, hot-hands running down his smooth sides and waist and Kurt gasps out a tiny breath, leans back into the touch.

“ _God,_ Blaine, we have to leave in ten minutes-”

“-I know,” Blaine mutters against his neck, curling his hands around Kurt’s hips, “I know.”

Kurt breathes out, back against Blaine’s, and they both shudder. “You’re always so  _warm,”_ Kurt says, gasp-surprised, and Blaine can hear the smile in his voice.

 _“It’s gettin’ hot in here,”_  Blaine singsongs into his ear,  _“so take off-”_

 _“-Blaine,”_ Kurt warns, laughing, “don’t.”

Blaine grins into his shoulder, presses his lips down in a soft kiss.

“We should go,” he whispers, scandalous-secret-quiet into his skin, lets go of Kurt’s hips and reaches down for his shirt. Sliding it onto his arms, Blaine grabs at his shoulders, lightly directs him towards his mirror and turns to face both of them.

“I really like you,” Blaine says, meeting Kurt’s eyes, beginning to button up his shirt. Kurt smiles, an oh-god-you’re-doing-this-to-me-again smile, looks down at his shoes, as if they’re going to tell him why Blaine is doing this again.

“What on earth do you mean, Blaine Anderson?” Kurt says, voice mock-oblivious.

“I-I think I love you,” Blaine spits out, trying his best to sound nervous, trying his best to not laugh.

“Real smooth, Blaine, just blurt it out.”

“Blaine?” A voice says from the doorway, and Blaine turns slightly to see his mother and father standing there, beaming at him.

“Hi, Mr Anderson, Mrs Anderson,” Kurt says, cheeks flushing red as he speaks.

“As much as you know we adore your company, Kurt, you’re both going to be late if you don’t leave now,” Blaine’s mother says, smiles at them.

After the news of Blaine’s (and Cooper’s) superpowers, his being gay was probably the least shocking thing his parents would have had to accept to date.

Blaine nods. “We’ll be right down, mama,” he says, and his father smiles at him, and they both leave.

Glancing at his alarm clock, Blaine drags his eyes back over to meet Kurt’s reflection. Smoothing his hair for the third time that morning, he huffs, straightens his back.

 _You can do this,_ he tries to say with his eyes, his smile, his soul.

“I love you, Kurt Hummel.”

*

The actual ceremony passes quicker than anyone expected, and before they know it, Blaine, Kurt and Santana (who looks happier than anyone expected) are pacing around the school, watching the lockers open and close in a flurry, watching students in lower grades – both social and educational – stress about their lives, and not missing a second of it.

They reach the gates, and all is quiet before Santana speaks.

“It’s been exactly six months,” she says, somehow smaller than Blaine expected her to sound.

The fact that Blaine was a superhero had shocked Ohio, and so had the news that Sebastian was also of that description, but nothing had shattered all of them as much as Brittany’s death. Santana wouldn’t leave her room for weeks afterward, and even though she refused to speak to Blaine about it, rumour had it she’d been walking around Lima Heights Adjacent in the early hours of the morning, looking for any form of love she could find.

Blaine doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how.

“You’ve been so strong,” Kurt says quietly, smiling gently at her in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. “I wouldn’t be able to do half the things you’ve had to.”

Santana smiles, tiny, and nods at him, takes a breath. “Since we probably aren’t going to stay in contact, I just wanted to say thank you, to both of you.” She pauses. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you two putting up with my crap.”

“Hey, no,” Blaine interrupts, finally finding his voice, stepping towards Kurt and Santana. “It’s – we’re not putting up with you, okay? We love you to bits, San.”

“Yeah,” Kurt adds, “and what’s this thing about not keeping in contact? Bitch, you’re not leaving me alone with him.”

“Fine, Hummel.” Blaine puts his hands up, mock-scandalized. “No more portable space heater boyfriend for you.”

Santana giggles, and Blaine feels his heart swell.

“I should really get going, though,” she says, “my train leaves in half an hour.”

“Okay,” Blaine says, winks at Kurt. They both hug her from each side, squeezing as tight as they can, not letting go until she shakes them off, gives them both a tight hug of their own.

“I’ll see you around,” she smile-says, and then she’s gone.

Cooper appears a second later, arm uncomfortably tight around Blaine’s neck, and Kurt cackles. “Hey, Cooper,” he says, grinning.

“Kurt!” Cooper says, blatantly ignoring Blaine’s protest to let him go, “What a surprise to see you here!”

Blaine stops struggling, and Cooper unsubtly loosens his chokehold. Blaine straightens up, breathes deep, glares at his brother.

“Hey, no need for formalities,” Cooper says, grinning at Blaine. “I just had a proposal to make.”

Blaine doesn’t respond, but his glare does soften.

“I have a spare apartment in New York,” Cooper says, pauses. “That would be 100% free to any relatives of mine, if they were willing to take me up on the offer.”

Kurt gapes, eyes widening in shock. “Are you serious?”

Cooper nods. “There  _is_ an old couple next door, though, so you boys might have to keep the noise down.”

“Cooper!” Blaine says, batting him on the arm. Cooper smiles, bats him back, and Blaine winces.

“Do you want it or not?” Cooper says.

“Ohmygodyes,” Kurt says quickly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Please,  _yes.”_

Cooper grins, nods his acquiesce. “It’s all yours.”

Kurt squeals, hugs Cooper tightly.

“I’ll see you two Monday, okay?” Cooper says once Kurt lets go, and then he’s gone too.

A moment passes.

“Come on, Blazer,” Kurt says, soft-smiling, taking his hand. “Let’s make a supersonic man out of you.”

Blaine cracks up, grinning, follows Kurt into the twilight.

*

_One week later_

It takes a second for Santana to fully process what’s happened; there’s a girl on the floor of the diner, and Santana’s covered in coffee, and-

“Oh my  _god,_ I am so sorry,” the girl’s saying to Santana, sponging the wetness off her front as best she can, lines of adorable worry on her face.

Santana grabs her wrist, smiles at the girl. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Phew, that’s good to know.” The girl smiles in relief, lets her hand drop. Holds it back up a second later. “I’m Dani.”

Santana grins.

“Santana,” she says, “Santana Lopez.”

Dani shakes her hand, lets it drop again. “You work here, right?”

Santana nods, lets her hand drop. “Daily and shamelessly.”

Dani laughs lightly, prettily, and Santana feels her heart beat faster. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then.”

“You will,” Santana replies. Dani nods, politely bids her farewell, walks away.

_Oh my god, she’s so pretty._

By the time Santana finishes dropping off her current order, she can already feel her heart swelling, is already resisting the urge to dance her eyes around the diner to search for Dani, can feel her mind waking up again.

For the first time in six months, she feels happy.

 

_~fin_


End file.
